Nightmare House
by T.S. Quint
Summary: 1428 Elm Street has always been inexplicably intertwined with the undead child murderer, Freddy Krueger, both in life... and undeath. What is it that places this house at the epicenter of such malevolence? What dark secrets does the house itself hide?
1. The House that Freddy Built

**Disclaimer: **I of course, do not own the rights to Freddy Krueger, 1428 Elm Street, or Springwood, Ohio. Or Crystal Lake, for that matter. Those rights are solely the intellectual property of New Line Cinema.

A little note on the story itself. What's about to follow is hopefully the first chapter of what could wind up being a fairly epic fic. Actually, to call it a single fic would be misleading. My idea for it is more of a series of stand-alone one shots, each interconnected by a single overlying story arc. While many of the stories will feature recurring characters and themes, I will do my best to insure that each one is capable of standing on its own. I hope you enjoy it. And review it, please, by all means. The bigger a response I get, the greater the chances are of me continuing.

And without further ado, I give you the first chapter of the _Nightmare House_ series.

"**The House That Freddy Built"**

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------**

"_The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest. The repose of the night does not belong to us. It is not the possession of our being. Sleep opens within us an inn for phantoms. In the morning we must sweep out the shadows..."_

_--Gaston Bachelard_

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------**

_Fall, 2010..._

"Fourteen Twenty-Eight, Elm Street." Lisa Clifton said, the grave tone in her voice matching the stone cold expression on her face. "A rundown, dilapidated, and altogether frightening presence on the otherwise tranquil neighborhood."

Lisa stood stock straight, her hands at her sides, clenched into fists, her dark brown eyes staring straight ahead. Behind her, was the subject of her speech... 1428 Elm Street. Standing two stories tall, 1428, once upon a time, might have been one of the nicer additions to Elm Street. As it was, for whatever reason the abandoned house had fallen into severe disrepair over the past five years. The windows had all been boarded up and nearly half of the green roof's shingles had fallen off, evidenced by the broken green fragments scattered though out the dead and dried up grass in the house's front yard. A small, and rickety white picket fence lined the sidewalk at the yard's edge. A rusty mail box barely clung to its post at the front of the walkway leading from the house's porch, the name "Campbell" almost completely worn away on its side.

The white paint on the house's walls was badly chipped, and the front door was a scratchy and faded golden color, though through the large gashes in the paint it was clear it was once red. The numbers "1, 4" and "8" hung in a vertical row on the left side of the door, a large space between the last two where the number "2" had once been. A defaced, and apparently frequently vandalized "For Sale" sign, hung in the front yard, nearly overgrown with now dry and dead weeds. Among many other illegible scrawlings and symbols, the words "HELL LIVES HERE" were the most prominent, sloppily spray painted on the sign in red, looking not unlike blood.

Lisa brushed her long, straight black hair out of her pale face. She was young, 19, and attractive, if just a little on the thin side. She was dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and a black t-shirt. Black combat boots were on her feet.

"Very few records exist on the house itself." she continued. "City hall absolutely refused to let me view any of the files on the house, which, last time I checked was a violation of the Freedom of Information Act... but whatever..."

From behind his digital camcorder, Kyle Stark let a chuckle slip. Kyle was a good looking young man, the same age as Lisa, with long shaggy blonde hair, though most of it was stuffed up under a red baseball cap. He wore red t-shirt and a pair of knee-length, cutoff blue jeans and a black pair of Chuck Taylor's on his feet.

Lisa sighed, her stone cold expression morphing into one of annoyance.

"Dammit, Kyle..." she groaned. "That's just more shit we're gonna have to edit out, now."

"Ya know," Kyle continued, ignoring the fact that Lisa's face grew even darker as he continued speaking. "Aren't documentaries supposed to be unbiased? And technically, aren't the _directors _of documentaries supposed to remain behind the camera for the most part and let their findings speak for themselves? You've been in almost every shot. That's a little 'Michael Moore,' doncha think?"

"God dammit, Kyle!" Lisa growled. "We have three days before this project is due, alright? Three days! You remember? You remember that little tidbit? Remember what Berger said would happen if we turned in one more film project late?"

Kyle shrugged. "Hey, I'm not the one that threw the bitch fit and made my entire crew walk out on me back at Forest Green, save for one ruggedly handsome camera man."

Lisa waved a hand dismissively. "Can we just fucking focus right now, Kyle?"

"You_ are_ in focus."

"Don't be a wise-ass."

Kyle shrugged, and placed his eye back up against the eye piece of his camcorder, signaling for Lisa to continue.

"The Nightmare Bitch on Elm Street..." he muttered to himself. "Rated R. For bitchiness."

Lisa rolled her eyes, paused a moment, then morphed back to her stone-cold serious face.

"The house itself is shrouded in mystery. Almost every inquisitory effort I've made on the subject has lead to nothing but dead ends, and quite literally, slammed doors. I've tried interviewing the police, doctors, morticians... even citizens who live on Elm Street. No one is willing to talk about this house."

"Is 'inquisitory' a word?" interrupted Kyle.

"Yes!" Lisa growled. "Now shut ...the_ fuck_... up!"

Kyle sighed and went back to filming.

"There was, however, one source who was willing to speak on the subject." Lisa went on. "A source who unfortunately wished to remain anonymous... but a source, nonetheless, who managed to shed more light on the subject than I'd venture to guess has been shed in nearly seven years."

"Ch-ch-ch-ch, ah-ah-ah-ah."

Lisa rolled her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing.

"According to my source, this house has been home to many strange and ultimately gruesome events spanning over forty years. In the 1960's, it was the home of a man dubbed 'The Springwood Slasher,' by the local papers, a child murderer whose numbers included over twenty children and even his own wife. Twenty years later, a young woman who lived here had to be committed to a mental institution after her mother was mysteriously burned to death in her own bed. The young woman's boyfriend was also murdered in a bizarre incident the same night, right across the street. When seeking information on _that _particular event at the Springwood Police Department, however, I was unceremoniously turned away."

"Kicked outta the police station." mused Kyle. "Gotta be a fuckin' pro to pull that off."

"Five years later, in 1986," Lisa went on, opting to ignore Kyle this time. "A new family moved into 1428 Elm. This culminated in the death of the family's 16 year old son. It also, mysteriously enough, coincided with the death of a P.E. teacher at Springwood High, as well as several deaths at a local pool party. Again, details on both are unfortunately hazy, as very few people in this town are willing to speak about these subjects."

Lisa stepped forward now, her eyes not leaving the camera. The wind rustled through her hair, enhancing the dramatic effect she was going for.

"Information about the house dropped off for a while after that, although any information at all on the entire town for the nine year period between 1991 and 1999 is virtually non-existent. Years worth of entire issues from the local papers are completely missing, and many articles from 1968 until 1989 are heavily edited in the microfilms at the library. Springwood has proven to be a very difficult town to research."

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Jesus," Kyle glanced around at the darkening sky. "Is that some timing or what?"

"Yeah," Lisa sighed. "Hopefully we won't have to edit it out because you keep opening your God damned mouth!"

"You could try being nicer-"

"SHUT. UP!"

Kyle glared at her for a long moment, before placing his eye back up to the eyepiece.

Lisa groaned in exasperation.

"Where the fuck was I?"

"You were, um... being a total bitch like always? That help at all?"

"Cute." Lisa glared.

"We're gonna have a hell of a blooper real for this shit, ya know that?"

Lisa just continued glaring at Kyle.

"Alright," Kyle said, his face still behind the camera. "Whenever you're ready, Lisa."

Lisa sighed deeply, before closing her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them, her face was serious again.

"Things were quiet for a long time, until seven years ago, when yet another brutal murder occurred within these walls." she gestured to the house. "A young man was brutally stabbed to death in his bed. Not only that, but, according to my source, the entire mattress was folded in half, bending the victim's body backwards and completely severing the spine. Within the week that followed, more murders occurred throughout Springwood, including several deaths at Westin Hills psychiatric hospital, and at a cornfield rave. These events also seem somehow connected to a similar series of events that occurred in the nearby town of Crystal Lake, now known as Forest Green. A campground that was undergoing renovations at the time burned to the ground, and the bodies of two teenagers, both identified as being from Springwood, were found among the carnage." Lisa glanced back at the house before slowly looking back at the camera. "It's almost as if the deaths at this house sparked off the others. As if all the strange, unexplainable events that have occurred throughout Springwood, and in the last case, Crystal Lake, all originated at this house..."

Kyle looked up from the camera, an excited grin on his face. "Oh my God, Lisa, we should go _inside_ the house!"

Lisa paused a moment, and for a half a second, Kyle thought she might be considering his suggestion... before her face quickly turned back in to the trademark scowl that seemed almost a permanent fixture of her otherwise pretty features.

"Don't be fucking stupid, Kyle." she sighed. "We can't go inside the house. That's illegal."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "And everything else we've been doing for this thing has been perfectly within the realm of the law..."

"Hey!" Lisa jabbed a finger at him. "We haven't done _anything_ against the law! Making ignorant people upset because they don't want anyone to know about their perfect little community's nasty secrets is _not _illegal!"

"It's not like anyone's gonna give a shit anyway!" Kyle continued, returning to his original point. "Or even notice! Look at this place! It's a disaster! Clearly nobody's been too concerned about the upkeep! I'll bet no one's even looked at this house in years!"

Lisa hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the house before turning once more back to Kyle.

"Still," she said, continuing to argue her point, although the anger and irritation in her voice had been replaced by a sort of musing tone. "I don't think its a good idea, alright?"

Kyle shrugged. "I mean, yeah, some ominous looking blacked out newspaper articles and shots of you standing in front of the house are creepy and all, but... not exactly visual, you know what I mean? If we could actually get some shots of the rooms where these supposed murders took place however..."

He trailed off, his grin widening when he saw that faraway look in Lisa's eyes that he knew meant she was actually giving his suggestion some serious consideration now.

"I'm sure the doors are locked." she said.

"Please... this place is falling apart. I'll bet the doors are ready to come off their hinges. Trust me, physically getting inside isn't going to be a problem." Kyle allowed Lisa to ponder this a bit further, before adding, "Whaddya say?"

A certain glow, a light in Lisa's eyes, that Kyle recognized as a sign that she was about to become extra "inquisitory" began to appear, and she looked up at him, concession finally showing on her face, her mouth opened to reply... when she paused. Her eyes unfocussed, and she tilted slightly to the left, glancing over Kyle's shoulder.

"Shit..." she breathed softly, more to herself than anything. Kyle paused a moment, before glancing over his shoulder as well.

The van that he and Lisa had driven to the place in was parked at the curb, on the other side of the ruddy picket fence. And another vehicle, a rather expensive looking BMW had just pulled up behind it. It idled for a moment, before the engine cut, and the driver's side door opened. A man stepped out. He looked to be somewhere in his mid-forties, with a hard-lined, but pleasant face, and a high forehead that hadn't quite become a receding hairline just yet. His brown hair was smoothly slicked back, and he wore a pair of sunglasses that looked as though they were more expensive than Kyle's DV camcorder. He wore a black sports coat, over an untucked, white button-down shirt, a pair of jeans, and a black pair of pricey looking, Italian shoes. He glanced first at the van with a curious expression on his face, before slowly looking over at Kyle and Lisa.

"Whose this guy?" Kyle asked. Lisa ignored him, stepping forward a bit.

"Can we help you?" she asked, trying to sound pleasant.

"Yeah," the man said slowly, removing his sunglasses and squinting at them from over the roof of his car. "Yeah, you can. What're you doing on my property?"

"_Your_ property?" Lisa raised an eyebrow.

"You own this dump?" asked Kyle.

"Sure do." responded the man, a deep level of disapproval under riding his casual tone. He walked as he spoke, moving past his car and walking up the walkway to the house, and stopping only when he stood right next to the two film students. "As of three-thirty yesterday afternoon. So, if you don't mind, I'll ask again: What are you doing on my property?"

As the man crossed his arms across his chest, his face stern and expectant, a grin slowly began to form on Lisa's face. She stepped further forward now. Her eyes flitted momentarily to the "For Sale" sign on the houses front yard ("HELL LIVES HERE") before immediately refocusing on the man with the expensive car. She motioned for Kyle to start the camera again. Kyle paused a moment, confused, before slowly lifting the camcorder back to his eye.

"So you've actually purchased the murder house on Elm Street, huh?" Lisa asked, expecting the news of deaths at the residence to come as a shock to the man.

Instead, the man didn't flinch. "Yup. That's me."

Lisa paused a moment, caught off guard by the man's blunt response. It didn't take long for her to regain her composure. "Would you... care to say a few words on the subject?" she tilted her head toward the camera.

The man shrugged. "Sure." He turned and looked straight into the camera lense. "If you don't get off my property right now, I'm going to call the police."

Lisa's expression slowly transformed from intrigue, to surprise, and finally, to the trademark vicious glare she almost always wore. The man simply looked at her, eyebrows raised, before glancing back to the camera.

"You can quote me on that, too." he said. "Donald Lawson."

Lisa growled, motioning for Kyle to lower the camera. "Alright, asshole, we get it. Come on Kyle."

She stormed toward the van. Kyle paused a moment, glancing apologetically at the man, Donald Lawson. "It's not you," Kyle said. "She's like this to everyone. Bitch and whatnot."

"Kyle!" Lisa snarled over her shoulder.

"Coming, you radiant beam of sunshine!" Kyle replied. He flashed Donald a grin, before trotting off after Lisa. A moment later their van had disappeared around the corner at the end of Elm Street. Donald sighed, watching them go... it wasn't like he hadn't expected some annoyances, particularly with the history of the house he'd just purchased. He just hadn't expected to have to _deal_ with said annoyances the moment he set foot on the property. He turned back to the house, grinning, his hands on his hips. He took a deep breath. He didn't care what anyone thought. He was proud of this purchase. This property was going to be huge when he was done with it. From somewhere closer than before, thunder rumbled threateningly.

Behind him, the passenger seat of Donald's BMW opened, and a teenaged girl, about sixteen, stepped out of the car. She was attractive, with long blonde hair, tied back in a ponytail, with bright blue eyes. She was wearing a worn, brown leather jacket, over a pink, button up blouse and a knee length, denim skirt. A pair of black, slip-ons were on her feet. She yawned, rubbing her eyes, and glancing up at the house Donald was beaming at, blinking a few times.

"_This _is the place?" she spoke up, speaking to Donald's back. Her tone was cynical and slightly amused. "Dad, you paid actual _human_ money for this house?"

Donald spun around quickly. "Oh, honey!" he said. "You're awake! I was gonna let you keep sleeping."

"Yuh huh." his daughter replied. She stepped up next to him, still looking at the house. "Gotta tell ya, dad. You've made some error's in judgment before, but this... this is gotta be one of the front runners."

Donald waved a hand dismissively, turning back to the house. "You're missing the big picture, Rory. It's not the house, the house is inconsequential, the house is crap..."

"No kidding." Rory said, dryly.

"It's the_ property_ that's important." Donald continued, as if his daughter hadn't said anything. "The property is where the money's at."

Rory glanced around at the dried grass, the falling apart mail box, and the overgrown white picket fence. "Yeah, this place is going to fetch a pretty penny alright..."

Donald sighed. "Could you knock it off with the sarcasm? You sound like your mother when you talk like that. It's unnerving. Trust me, this place is going to be worth a fortune when we're done with it. Knock over the house, replant the grass, and start all over again. It's a great neighborhood, a great location... trust me... this is gonna be the big one. This is gonna turn our whole lives around."

Rory didn't say anything more. She wanted to believe her dad, she really did... but he'd said these things before. Her father ran a contracting business, a once very successful contracting business until an error in judgment about where to place a commercial district backfired and almost sent Donald Lawson's company into bankruptcy, three years ago. This also coincided, cosmically enough, with Donald's wife (and Rory's mother) filing for divorce. Things hadn't been the same for Donald and Rory since, and while they'd just managed to scrape by thus far, Donald was desperate to try to return his company to its former glory. This resulted in him taking an awful lot of chances with his purchases. An awful lot of chances that, more often than not, hadn't exactly made the payoff he'd expected.

"Trust me." Donald said again, smiling broadly. "This place is gonna be the one. I promise."

As if in response, another rumble of thunder rolled overhead. Rory glanced up, then back over to her dad. "I really want to believe you, dad. Really, I do."

Donald shook his head, his grin faltering a bit, but he made his best attempt to cover it up. "Oh ye of little faith."

Rory noticed his smile fade, and sighed. She had hurt his feelings. It seemed to be getting harder and harder not to hurt his feelings lately. She knew he was trying his best, so she offered a weak smile and said. "But hey... what do I know. I'm not the big time contractor."

"Damn straight!" her father replied, his grin broadening again. He looked back to the house, then back to his daughter once more. "Ya wanna go inside? Scope the place out?" his tone had taken on that of an excited twelve year old who'd just been dared to sneak into the old haunted house down the street. Rory glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you serious?"

"Why not? It's my house now. Who knows what cool stuff might've gotten left behind."

"You're a dork of monumental proportions, dad. You know that, right?"

"Cooler than you are." Donald retorted in what was, in Rory's opinion, a decidedly uncool tone. She couldn't help but smile about it.

"That notwithstanding," she said. "I think I'll just wait in the car."

Donald shrugged. "Suit yourself. But your missin' out!"

He started toward the house. Rory shook her head, walking back down the walkway, and back to the passenger side of the car. She opened the door, and slipped back into the seat. Just before she shut the door, her father, who was now standing at the house's front door, turned back to her.

"If I'm not back in ten minutes... keep waiting!" he said, grinning. Rory shook her head, smiling back, and shutting the car door. Her dad turned back to the house and after fussing with the door for several moments, finally managed to get it open. He stepped inside, into the incredibly pitch blackness that lay beyond 1428's door. Rory watched him go, and watched the door swing a few inches, before coming to a rest, still open by about a foot. It really was incredibly black beyond the house's threshold. It was actually kind of creepy.

"Wouldn't catch me dead in there..." she finally muttered to herself, before leaning back against the seat, and letting her heavy eyelids slowly close. Cross-country practice had been exhausting this afternoon, and her dad had driven straight here from picking her up. Even in just the fifteen minute drive it took to get here, she'd managed to fall into a pretty deep sleep. It was this level of sleep that she slowly slipped back into.

------------------------------------------------------

"RORY!!!"

Rory awoke with a start. She blinked a few times... how long had she been asleep? She glanced at the clock in the car's dashboard. It was blank. Puzzled, she pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and looked at its face. Also blank. She flipped it open. The screen was black.

"I just charged this stupid thing this morning..." she muttered to herself. She tried turning the phone back on. Nothing happened. "Wonderful..."

She glanced at the sky through the car's windshield. It had grown darker, but Rory wasn't sure if that was because the sun had dipped lower in the sky, or the overcast clouds had grown thicker. Lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled menacingly.

"RORY!!!"

She jumped. Someone was shouting her name. It sounded like her dad! She opened the car door.

"Dad?" she said loudly. "Are you alright?"

No answer. Slowly, she slid out of the car, closing the door behind her. She shivered a bit as she stood. It had definitely gotten colder out... how long had her dad been in there?

"RORY!!! HELP ME!!!"

Rory gasped. It was definitely her dad. And it was definitely coming from the house.

"Dad!" she cried, worry weighing heavily on her voice. "Dad, are you alright?!"

"RORY!!!" was the only reply she got. Rory whimpered. Her dad sounded like he was in pain! She turned and glanced up and down the street. Where was everyone? It was desolate. And dead silent. The wind wasn't blowing. No cars were passing. Nothing. A sudden blast of thunder caused Rory to jump and shriek.

"RORY!!!" she heard her father cry from within the house once more. "PLEASE HELP ME!!!!"

Rory turned back to the house and hesitated only a moment longer, before trotting down the walkway and up to the front porch. Just before she stepped onto it, she paused. She thought she had seen a flash of movement out of one of the dirty, second floor windows, but it was hard to tell. The colors red and green came to mind.

"RORY!!!"

She yelped, startled at how near her father had sounded.

"I'm coming, dad!" she replied after a moment, and with one final deep breath, she pushed the chipping, gold colored door open, and stepped into the blackness....

Once inside, she paused to allow her eyes to adjust.

As her vision focused, the first thing she noticed was how filthy the house was. Cobwebs were everywhere, and a thick layer of dust covered everything. A hallway stretched out in front of her, leading to what looked like a kitchen. A set of stairs were on her right, leading up to the second floor. To her left, an arched doorway lead to what looked like a living room. The floorboards on the hallway in front of her were splintered and broken, and Rory feared that if she stood in one place for too long she might fall through. The carpet in the living room was filthy, moldy, and deteriorating.

"....help me...."

Rory paused. This new voice wasn't her father... it actually sounded like a child's. Like a little girls, maybe. And it wasn't shouting. It didn't sound as frantic. Just hopeless. And weak.

"Hello?" Rory called.

".....please help me...." the little girl's voice whimpered again. It sounded like it was coming from a doorway on the right side of the hallway, under the stairs. Rory slowly moved toward the door. As she drew closer, she heard the little girl's voice again, but it no longer spoke. It merely whimpered. Then, it shrieked. Loudly. Rory froze in her tracks. A dark pool of liquid... blood... had begun to flow from underneath the door under the stairs.

"Oh my God..." Rory breathed.

The little girl's shrieking fell silent. Rory had had enough. She couldn't stay in here, even if her father needed her. She'd run to a neighbors, call the police. But she couldn't stay here. She turned to dash out the door... and screamed.

The same scene greeted her. The stairs to her right. The living room on her left. The splintery, hallway leading to the kitchen stretched out in front of her. The blood oozing from beneath the doorway on the right side of the hallway under the stairs....

She tried to turn toward the doorway again.... and once again, found the same scene before her. The stairs. The living room. The hallway. The blood.

"No..." she moaned. "No! This is impossible!"

Suddenly, with a click, the door under the stairs slid open ajar. Rory stared at it, her eyes wide with terror. She wanted to run, but she couldn't get her legs to respond... besides, where would she go? She couldn't leave... the house wouldn't let her!

_Thump_! _Thump_! _Thump_! It sounded like footsteps. They were coming from the open door... it sounded like someone stomping up stairs.

"Heh heh heh..." the gravelly chuckle, emanating from the door, sent a shiver up Rory's spine. Slowly the door began to open wider.

Rory had no intention of seeing who... or what... was going to come out. She couldn't walk out the front door. But she was desperate. She turned and quickly ran up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, directly ahead was a doorway. To the left, stretched a hallway. Rory tried the door first. The handle rattled and didn't budge. Locked.

"Fee, fi, fo fum!" Rory barely suppressed the urge to shriek as she heard a gravelly voice that matched the cackle from the doorway, bellow from the first floor. "I smell the blood of a blondie-blonde! Yum!" The voice cackled once again, and without even thinking about it, Rory dashed down the hallway to her left.

As soon as she entered the hallway she stopped, her eyes widening even further than she thought possible.

The hallway stretched out seemingly endlessly, further than her eyes could see. What looked like an endless number of white doors lined both sides of the hallway. Rory turned around... and screamed as she saw that the hallway now stretched impossibly far on that side as well.

"The stairs? Where are the stairs?!"

Suddenly, a door on the left, closest to Rory, creaked open. Rory shrieked, jumping away from it. A moment went by... when a little brown haired girl, in a dirty, stained white nightgown slowly shuffled out of the now open doorway. The little girl's head was bowed forward, her hair obscuring her face.

Rory, breathing heavily, watched the little girl shuffle toward her.

"Wha-what... what's going on?" Rory stammered softly. "What is this? Who are you?"

The little girl's head lulled back, her hair parting like the Red Sea... and Rory screamed once again.

The little girl's face was bleach white... and her eye sockets were empty and shriveled. A hideous slashing wound split wide open on the little girl's throat like a demonic red grin, as her head rolled back, exposing and stretching bleeding red muscle and tendons. Blood poured from the wound soaking into the little girl's dirty nightgown like a sponge.

"I could be bounded in a nutshell..." the little girl said, in a ragged and raspy whisper, blood burbling and spurting from her wound as she spoke. "And count myself a king of infinite space..."

Suddenly another door, this one to Rory's right, slammed open, and a little boy staggered out. He was blond, and wearing a dirty pair of tanned slacks, and a green and red sweater-vest over a blue button down shirt. His cheeks were deeply slashed on either side of his lips, turning his face into a grotesque permanent grin.

"I could be bounded in a nutshell..." the little boy repeated. "And count myself a king of infinite space..."

Rory slowly stepped back from the two children in horror... when more of the doors began opening. One by one by one... and more ghastly children began filing into the hallway. Soon all of the doors, as far as Rory could see, were coming open, ghostly pale figures slowly wandering out of them. Not just children any more, but teenagers and even a few adults. All of them different, but all of them sharing the same key features... some grotesque and obviously fatally grievous wound. Some of them were emaciated, some of them even decayed, maggots squirming and falling out of their flesh. Rory even saw what had to be the burnt and charred skeleton of an impossibly young child shambling toward her. Crowds and crowds of these living corpses filled the hallway to Rory's left and right, drawing closer and closer to her. All of them moaning the same phrase, over and over, overlapping one another...

"I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space.... I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space.... I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space..."

The people... the corpses... were drawing closer and closer, their arms stretching out toward Rory. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to go.... Rory realized with horror that the doors the corpses had shambled out of had disappeared, blank, red walls now stretching off endlessly in both directions. The corpses crowded around her, clutching and pulling, and tearing at her hair, her jacket, her skirt....

"I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space..."

It was too much.... Rory scrunched her eyes shut and shrieked, trying to drown out the monstrous voices assaulting her from all directions.

Silence followed. The hands that clutched at her fell away.... Rory stood with her eyes shut for several minutes, waiting. More silence followed.... slowly, she opened her eyes... and was greeted with nothing but blackness. Blackness and silence, stretching off in all directions. She couldn't see the wall, or even the floor and the ceiling. Nothing but total blackness. It was as if she'd stepped into an endless void of nothingness.

Suddenly, a soft, barely audible voice whispered to her, seeming to come from all directions at once.

"I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space.... were it not that I have bad dreeeeeamsssss....."

And suddenly, Rory found herself in a room once again. It was empty, with a dusty wooden floor, and a tall, sloping roof that came to a point directly overhead, sloping down on either side of her. It looked like she was in an attic of some sort. On the opposite end of the room, directly in front of a large, stained glass window... was a woman in a rocking chair. She rocked back and forth, facing the opposite direction from Rory, seemingly completely oblivious to Rory's presence. Her skin was as pale white as the corpses from before, her hair black, and done up in a tight bun on the back of her head. She was dressed in what looked like a colonial era dress, with a long, ankle length skirt, a neck hugging collar and long, wrist length sleeves. The woman held a bundle in her arms as she rocked. She was singing softly to herself, her voice hauntingly beautiful, and laced with a feathery British accent.

"One... two... Freddy's coming for you..."

Rory, slowly began walking toward the woman, not even sure why she was doing so. Anything seemed better than just standing still at this point.

"Three... four... better lock your door..."

Rory drew closer and closer. She could make out the woman better now... she looked young, only a few years older than Rory herself...

"Five... six... grab your crucifix..."

Rory stood mere feet behind the woman in the rocking chair now.

"Seven... eight... better stay up late..."

The woman slowly glanced over her shoulder now... she was beautiful, with high, defined cheekbones, a soft, smooth chin, and thin, sloping eyebrows. Her eyes made Rory gasp, though. They were veiny, red-rimmed, and yellow... and decidedly malevolent. The woman's red lips parted in a dark smile.

"Nine... ten..." she finished softly. "Never sleep again..."

"Who..." Rory whimpered softly. "Who are you?"

The woman glanced down at the bundle she held, smiling and nudging the bundle which cooed softly at her, before slowly looking back up at Rory.

"I am someone," she said softly. "Who has been waiting here for a long, long time..."

Rory groaned. What did that even mean? What the hell was going on?!

"What is..." Rory began, trying to think of how to word what she was asking... trying to think of _what_ she was even asking. "What is this place?"

"This place?" the woman asked simply, her grin never faltering. "It's my house."

"Your house?"

"Yes. I've been here for as long as this house has... longer actually. Much longer. I've been here.... waiting and waiting and waiting. Waiting for the right time. The right time to make my presence known. The right time to set the Master's plan in motion." she glanced up at the stained glass window. For the first time, Rory noticed the design on the window. It depicted a raging storm. In the middle of a large thunderhead, was a huge swirling vortex. A large, black shape, with two slanted, glowing red eyes was emerging from the vortex. Bloody, human corpses littered the brown, dead grown below the storm. "The time draws very near, child..."

The Master's plan? Who was this woman? "What in God's name are you talking about?" Rory asked, her voice growing frantic.

The woman chuckled. For some reason, this scared Rory even worse than the raspy chuckling from the door under the stairs.

"No." the woman said, shaking her head. "No God."

"HAW HAHAHAHAHAAAW!"

Rory gasped as this cackle, in the same raspy voice as before, suddenly roared from every direction at once.

"Whoops." said the woman, fussing with the bundle in her arms once again. "It appears that you have caught the attention of my housemate, young lady."

Rory spun on her heel... and gasped. A blood red door stood not six feet in front of her, in the middle of the room. It hadn't been there before.

Without warning, the door suddenly burst open, and a man lept out.

He was thin and lanky, wearing a dirty brown pair of pants and a ratty, red and green sweater. A pair of black, scuffed and stained work boots were on his feet. His arms were spread wide, and on his right hand, he wore a dirty brown work glove that was fitted with four razor sharp claws on the index, middle, ring, and pinky fingers. A dirty brown fedora was on his bald head. And every inch of his exposed skin was covered in the most hideous and mangled looking burn scars Rory had ever seen. The man's face was twisted into a vicious grin, his eyes wide with a malicious excitement.

"Honey!!!" Freddy Krueger cackled. "I'm hooooooooome!!"

"Well, hello Freddy, dear..." said the woman in the rocking chair, from over Rory's shoulder. "It's good to see you again."

Freddy paused a moment, cocking an eyebrow (or at least, the mass of scarred tissue above his right eye where an eyebrow would've been) and looking past Rory, at the woman in the rocking chair.

"Who the hell are you?" he growled.

The woman chuckled once again. "No one you should concern yourself with just yet."

Freddy paused, clicking his claws as he glanced from Rory to the woman in the chair. Rory stood, her eyes locked on Freddy. She had never been more terrified. A long moment of silence went by.

"By all means," the woman said, breaking the silence. "Don't allow me to interrupt the two of you." her gaze moved to Freddy. "You just carry on like you normally would, as if I weren't even here."

Freddy stared at her for a long moment, before his grin slowly returned. He glanced at Rory, and chuckled darkly, raising his claws.

"Sounds like a plan to me!" he growled.

He lept at Rory, claw raised. Rory screamed and dived out of the way, just as Freddy's claws slashed the air where she had been standing. She turned to face the woman in the rocking chair... and found that she, the bundle, and the chair were all gone. All that was left was the large stained glass window. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Freddy rushing at her once again, claw raised. This left her with one choice.

She turned and dove straight through the stained glass window.

The world spun around her as she felt herself falling through the air, her arms and legs flailing wildly. She fell for what felt like an eternity... before landing hard on her back, gasping as the wind was knocked out of her.

The first thing she noticed was the full moon hanging in the clear starry sky, directly over head. The second thing she noticed, was the cool, wet feeling of dewy blades of grass against her bare legs. She sat up, suddenly, still coughing and trying to catch her breath.

She was laying at the foot of a tall, black, and craggy dead tree. It stretched up in front of her, like a clawed hand reaching for the stars. She slowly stood and glanced around... and cried out as she looked behind her.

A lone gravestone jutted out of the ground. Her gravestone... "Lorelei Constantina Lawson" it read. "1994-2010/ Beloved daughter. Gutted before her time by Freddy Krueger."

Rory slowly backed away from the gravestone... when she heard a creaking sound from behind her. She turned around.... and screamed as the craggy, claw-like tree toppled toward her. She threw herself to the ground as the tree fell on her, it's razor sharp limbs miraculously missing her, digging themselves into the ground on all sides of her... pinning her to the ground. She struggled for several minutes before she realized it was hopeless.

"Help!" she screamed, even as she realized how ludicrous it was to do so. "Somebody help me!"

Without warning, something burst out of the ground, mere feet from Rory's head, showering her with damp dirt.... it was an arm. A green and red striped arm... wearing a clawed work glove.

Rory began screaming even louder.

Slowly, Freddy dragged himself out of the ground, dusting himself off, and drawing up to his full height, which from where Rory was, appeared taller than the space needle. Slowly, Freddy crouched next to her, grinning, exposing his hideous gnarled and rotten teeth.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this...." he purred, softly caressing Rory's face with the back of his claws. "Seven years. Seven long fucking years, waiting in that house. The only place in Springwood where I have any power left at all. Waiting, hoping that one day one of Springwood's brats would be stupid enough to come wondering right back into my arms." he chuckled. "Congratulations, Rory. You're officially Springwood's most brainless citizen. Speaking of which..."

He suddenly plunged his claws into Rory's forehead.

Rory screamed waiting for the explosion of pain, the warm gush of blood, waiting for darkness to engulf her senses.... anything. Nothing happened. She didn't feel any pain at all. She didn't feel anything.

Freddy's claws hadn't penetrated her head. Freddy's claws had faded away before they even touched her flesh.

Freddy snarled, withdrawing his hand. Slowly, his clawed hand reformed. Growling, he plunged it back toward Rory's head.... and again, it dissolved into nothingness before it reached her.

Freddy withdrew his hand once again, grumbling low. Slowly, the grumble turned into a growl, the growl turning into a snarl, the snarl turning into a roar. Freddy lept to his feet, grabbing the dead tree, and with a scream of rage, he threw it... he actually THREW it! The tree went soaring off into the eerily tranquil starry horizon.

"I knew it!" he screamed. "I FUCKING KNEW IT!!! I _knew _this was too good to be true!!"

Rory tried to scramble to her feet, but Freddy lifted his foot, bringing it down hard on her chest, pinning her back to the ground.

"I can't kill you..." he said, looking down at her, sizing her up. "But I'm capable of touching you. Which means..." a grin slowly spread across his face. "Which means your fear is giving me power... which means it ain't over yet! I think we've found a usefulness for you, blondie-blonde!"

Freddy reached down, grabbing Rory by the collar of her blouse and hauling her her up, over his head, her feet dangling just a foot above the ground.

"Go back, little piggy!" Freddy cackled. "Back home. Back to the real world." he lowered her to the ground, pulling her close so that her face was inches from his. She could smell his rancid breath as he spoke. "Tell 'em Freddy sent ya!"

He cackled loudly. Rory began screaming, and Freddy suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and began shaking her.

"Wake up!" he cried. "Rory, wake up!" Only it wasn't the evil, rattling, raspy voice of Freddy Krueger. It was the terrified and desperate voice of her father....

------------------------------------------------------

Rory's eyes burst open, and she sat up screaming.

"Rory... RORY! Rory, calm down, it's me! IT'S ME!!"

Rory's father looked down at her, his eyes wide with worry.

Rory glanced around. She was back in her father's car. It was still day out, the sky still the drab grey of rainclouds. Thunder rumbled again, softly in the distance. Rory could see 1428 Elm looming darkly over her father's shoulders.

"Jesus Christ..." Donald breathed, kneeling down beside his daughter. "That must've been one hell of a nightmare... I could hear you screaming from all the way on the second floor..."

Rory was breathing heavily. She began trembling violently, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Honey?" Donald said, concern thick in his voice. "Are you alright."

Rory shook her head, before throwing her arms around her father's neck.

"I thought you were dead!" she whimpered. "I thought _I _was dead..."

"No, of course not..." her father held her to him, closely. "Jesus, that really must've been some nightmare...."

"You have no idea..." Rory slowly pulled away from Donald, wiping her eyes. That was when she noticed the dusty red book her father was holding. "What is that?"

"This?" Donald held up the book. "I dunno... I found it in the closet of one of the rooms on the second floor. I think it's a diary..."

Rory looked at the book for a moment, then up at her father, then at the house looming menacingly over her father's shoulder. Her eyes widened, and she inhaled sharply.

"Honey..." Donald looked at her before glancing over his shoulder at the house. He slowly turned back to his daughter. "Honey... is everything alright?"

Rory's eyes narrowed. "You have to destroy this place, dad. Destroy it. Tear it to the fucking ground..."

She could've sworn she'd just seen a shape move quickly past one of the windows on the second floor... the colors red and green came to mind...


	2. The Unquiet Spirits

"**The Unquiet Spirits"**

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------**

_Wake me up! Wake me up inside_

_I can't wake up! Wake me up inside_

_Save me! Call my name and save me from the dark..._

_--Evanescence "Bring Me To Life"_

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------**

_Two weeks later..._

"This is the place, huh?" Tyler Norton said, taking a deep drag from his cigarette and slowly exhaling it through his nostrils. The smoke curled slightly in the breeze above him and almost seemed to glow in the light of the street lamp overhead.

Molly Webster, the dark haired girl on his left, with the pleated, red-plaid school girl skirt nodded emphatically, an excited grin on her face. Her eyes didn't leave the dilapidated house across the street.

"Fourteen-Twenty Eight Elm," she said darkly. "This is the place alright. Fucking wicked, isn't it?"

"Fucking nasty is more like it," the brunette girl with the purple streaks in her hair and the baggy black cargos that barely clung to her skin-and-bones waist on Tyler's right said.

Molly rolled her eyes. "Well, you _would _know all about nasty, wouldn't you, Kara?"

Kara Murphy glared at Molly, but made no further response. Tyler glanced back and forth between the two, a sardonic grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, before allowing his gaze to fall back on the house.

"So, what's the deal with this place, anyway?" he asked, "I've heard a shit-ton of stories about it."

Molly's grin broadened. "This is where the Springwood Slasher lived, man. He supposedly murdered a ton of kids back in the day, until a bunch of parents tracked him back to his lair and burned his ass alive."

Kara pulled the pink arm-warmers she wore to hide the track marks on her arm up further, shivering a bit as the breeze blew. It seemed like she could feel the temperature dropping.

"That's bullshit." she said. "Who fuckin' told you that?"

"My dad." Molly countered in a nasty tone.

Kara scoffed. "An alcoholic on worker's comp. That's a reliable source."

Molly snarled "Fuck you, you stupid, bitch! I am _so _gonna kick your-" she took a step toward Kara, but Tyler put up an arm, stopping her, an amused grin lazily splayed across his face.

"Molly... chill out."

"I'll chill out when trash-bag over there learns to watch her fuckin' mouth!" Molly spat, still glaring at Kara.

The three teenagers looked very out of place in the wholesome, picket fence neighborhood of Elm Street. Tyler had long, clumpy blonde hair that hung down in front of his stubbled face and looked as though it hadn't been washed in a week. He was decked out all in black, with a black denim jacket, jeans, and boots. Molly wore a black leather jacket, over a white, button up shirt, that completed her school-girl look. The shirt was tied closed rather than buttoned, exposing most of her chest and stomach, despite the cold weather. Her face was caked in make-up, the black eye-shadow and bright red lipstick being the most prominent. Kara wore a black tank top along with her cargoes and pink arm-warmers. Her purple streaked hair was tied back in a ponytail. She too wore black eyeshadow, though not as much as Molly, and wore black lipstick in place of Molly's red.

Molly's anger slowly abated and she turned back to the house. "Can you believe they wanna tear this place down? It's like a crime or somethin'. The only place in Springwood that anything noticeable ever happened at... _ever_... and they're tearing the fucker down..."

Tyler shook his head, noting the plastic, orange construction fencing that had recently replaced the falling down, white picket fence. The defaced "For Sale" sign actually had a "Sold" sticker slapped over the front of it, obscuring the "E" and the first and part of the second "L's" in "HELL LIVES HERE." It amused him to no end that they hadn't even bothered to take down or replace the sign when they'd sold it. They just slapped a sticker over it. Nobody ever seemed to want to linger long enough to do anything, even something as simple as taking down a sign in 1428's front yard.

"It's a travesty." he said.

Kara glanced back up again. "Yeah, it is... a travesty that they didn't tear that shithole down sooner. Fucking child killer lived there? Why the hell would you want to keep that place around?"

Tyler shrugged. "Apparently someone thought they could make some money off of it. Evidently they were right, 'cause... ya know..." he trailed off, gesturing at the "For Sale" sign.

Molly stared at the house for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face, before turning to Tyler. "We should go inside!"

Now it was Kara's turn to roll her eyes. "And do what?"

Tyler's grin broadened. This was the direction he'd been waiting for the conversation to take since he'd lead their walk down this direction. He'd known full well what street they were on, knew full well about Molly's obsession with the place. He slowly reached into his pocket and withdrew a battered "Altoid's" tin, shaking it to get the girls' attention. Its contents rattled loudly.

"We could get fucked up." he said.

A grin slowly began to form on Molly's face. She knew what Tyler kept in his Altoid's tin. And it sure as hell wasn't Altoids. She slowly placed her arms around Tyler's neck, grinding her hips up against his.

"Oh. Hell. Yes." she said in a sultry tone.

Kara glanced quickly back and forth between the two of them.

"Wait..." she said. "Wait, wait, wait... you guys aren't actually serious about this."

Tyler spoke to her, his eyes not leaving Molly's, the distracted tone in his voice... among other indicators... proving that his thoughts were elsewhere. "Why not?"

"Why not? Are you serious? Are you guys even _looking_ at the same house I'm looking at right now? You guys honestly think getting high in that..." she looked over at the house. It looked bigger somehow. "That condemned looking nightmare is a good idea? That place looks like it's about ready to collapse!"

"So fuckin' what?!" Molly said, suddenly, shooting Kara a glare. "It's just the three of us. It's not like we're hosting a fucking party or something!"

"I just don't think it's... safe..." Kara regretted saying it almost before the words left her mouth. She glanced over at Molly and Tyler, who, as she suspected, had ceased in their semi-foreplay to gape at her, stunned looks of amusement on their faces.

"Safe?" Tyler barely suppressed a laugh.

"The heroin junkie is actually worried about _safety_?" Molly didn't bother suppressing hers. "Who are you and where the fuck is Kara?"

Kara looked away from the two of them, self-consciously scratching the area on her forearms on the opposite side of her elbows. "I told you guys..." she said softly. "I don't do that shit anymore..."

"Oh, right..." said Tyler still grinning. "Sorry, we forgot."

"Puh-lease, Kara..." said Molly, nuzzling up against Tyler's chest as she looked at Kara out of the corner of her eyes. "Nobody kicks the shit you were on... still _are_ on... so don't give us that bull..."

Kara bit her lower lip and glanced back at the house again. Was it her imagination, or did she just see something move on the second floor?

"Look," said Molly finally. "Tyler and I are gonna go in there..." she glanced up at Tyler. "Right?"

Tyler nodded. "Right."

Molly nodded back, turning back to Kara. "So, you can do whatever the fuck you want, alright?"

"I don't think you guys should go in there..." Kara replied.

Molly shrugged. "That's fine. I don't give a shit what you think we should do. You just better not fuckin' rat on us."

Kara shook her head. "No... I wouldn't... no."

Tyler raised the Altoid tin again, shaking it. "You sure you're out, Kara? Just picked this shit up today. Supposed to be some quality stuff. Last chance."

Kara glanced over at the house, then back to Molly and Tyler, slowly shaking her head.

"You guys..." she said slowly. "I really... _really_... have a bad feeling about this place, alright? I... I wish you guys wouldn't go in there."

"Duly noted." Molly said absently, grabbing Tyler's hand and pulling him across the street. Tyler glanced over his shoulder as they went, still grinning, and offered Kara a half-hearted shrug. The two of them easily slipped over the construction fencing, trotted up the walkway, and pausing only to fiddle with the door momentarily, before forcing it open and disappearing within its threshold. Kara shivered. She couldn't help thinking of the door as a gaping maw that had just swallowed her friends whole...

------------------------------------------------------

The second they had entered the house and Tyler had closed the door behind them, Molly had spun him around, thrown him against the door, and pushed herself up against him, pressing her mouth aggressively over his, slipping her tongue between his lips and as far past his gums as it would go. Tyler's hands came to a rest on the small of Molly's back, before slowly slipping down, past her skirt to her bare legs, before reversing direction and rising back the way they came, slipping under the skirt's fabric this time. Molly began grinding up against him, issuing small moans every now and then. After a moment, she slowly pulled away from Tyler.

"Wanna find someplace more comfortable and get to droppin'?" she asked, smiling coyly.

Tyler looked around at the interior of the house. A hallway lead off straight ahead, an arched doorway was to their left, and a set of stairs to the right. He doubted any of it lead anywhere more comfortable.

"Well, I'm all for dropping at any rate." he finally said. "As for anyplace more comfortable, well... I doubt the previous owners left their bed, and even if they did... I don't think I wanna get down on any bed that's been in this place."

Molly suppressed a laugh. "You're right, the floor's probably much cleaner. Come on, we can at least _check_ upstairs."

Tyler and nodded. "Alright, alright... but first...." he slipped his hand back into his denim jacket, and withdrew his Altoid tin, snapping it open, and taking out a small, white powdery looking pill. "Open wide..."

Molly smiled broadly at him before opening her mouth, grabbing his wrist, and slowly pulling the finger he held the pill on into her mouth. She wrapped her lips around the finger, and sucked on it ever so slightly, looking straight into Tyler's eyes as she slowly pulled his finger back out of her mouth. The pill, obviously, was gone. Tyler shook his head.

"And Kara's the dirty one?" he said, taking out another pill, and dropping it into his own mouth.

Molly chuckled, slipping her arms around Tyler's neck again. "Kara_ wishes_ she was as dirty as me..." she tilted her head toward the stairway. "Let's see what's upstairs."

Tyler smiled as Molly led him up the stairs.

There was a doorway directly at the top of the stairs that wouldn't open, but the door at the end of the hallway to the left of the stairwell was already wide open when they reached it. It was a bedroom... and against all odds, it contained a slightly molding, but still perfectly serviceable bed.

Not that hygiene was the foremost on either of the two teenagers minds at the moment. Tyler's previous assertions of hesitation at the thought of the previous owner's bed were now gone from his mind.

Molly and Tyler's lips (and tongues for that matter) refused to part as they slowly made their way across the room, Molly clumsily relieving Tyler of his jacket, and next working on his studded belt. The back of her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she allowed herself to slump into a sitting position, still refusing to relinquish her lip-lock with Tyler. Slowly, very slowly, Tyler's hands came up and to a gentle rest on Molly's shoulders. They lingered there only a mere moment, before slowly slipping down past her collar bone and below the fabric of the plunging neckline of her tied together shirt. After spending ample time there enough to hear another soft moan issue from Molly's throat, Tyler slowly slipped his hands out of her shirt and gently untied the knot that held the two sides of her button-up blouse together. Once done, he slipped the shirt back over her shoulders. Molly finally pulled away from him as he next went to work, fumbling with the snaps on her lacy black bra. She glanced around the room, blinking, her eyes focusing.

"God, I think this shit is starting to kick in hard..." she said breathlessly.

"Tell me about it..." Tyler said in a distracted tone. He tossed aside Molly's bra and began kissing her neck, slowly working his way down her now bare upper body from there.

Molly glanced up at the room's ceiling as the world began flowing and spinning around her in a hyper-lucid manner. Everything had become so real, every sight, every sound, every feeling. The feeling of the bed beneath her bare legs, the feeling of Tyler's lips on her skin, the small smacking sound he made as he kissed her, the feeling of his hands as they slowly worked their way up her legs, her thighs, and pass the hem-line of her skirt. She bit her lower lip and slowly allowed her eyes to close.

This night was going to be amazing...

------------------------------------------------------

Kara paced back and forth on the sidewalk across from 1428 hugging herself tightly as night grew darker and the temperature began dropping further. Against her better judgment, she had decided to wait outside of the house for Molly and Tyler, deciding that it couldn't possibly take Tyler that long to pop his load. Not to mention she was certain the two would soon grow bored of their limited surroundings inside the house in the drug induced state they were almost certainly in by now, and before too long, would come wondering back outside before Kara could say "junkie fuck-buddies."

Kara absently scratched at her track marks again, shooting a glare at the house, as though she could see Tyler and Molly banging each other's brains out. Kara was clean, and it didn't matter what those two fuck-heads thought about it. The fact of the matter was, over the summer her parents had found her stash, needles and all. She didn't even get the courtesy of one of those "what are you doing with this shit?!" speeches that you saw on TV. Her parents just immediately dragged her to Westin Hills for a month of rehab.

It had been the single worst month of Kara's life, and she hoped to God it would remain that way, because she didn't think she could survive anything worse. She had been awake for entire days on end, shivering so hard her joints felt like they were going to shake apart, while at the same time sweating until her sheets were drenched because she was so hot. Her fever had left her so delirious that at one point, she stripped off all of her clothes in an attempt to cool down, and when that hadn't worked had attempted to remove her _skin_, starting at the arms. She was lucky the orderlies had caught her before she'd caused any serious damage.

And the hallucinations. The horrible, nightmarish things she'd seen while in the bizarre state between being awake and asleep that was insomnia. Waking dreams. Hypno-something or other, that's what Dr. Campbell had called them. They were awful...

Kara shivered again. This time it wasn't from the cold.

But she'd made it through it all. She'd eventually overcome her withdraws and had been released from the clinic with a clean bill of health. And she knew she was better for it. She had never really wanted to get hooked on anything like that... but unfortunately, being friends with people like Tyler and Molly had that effect on people. The two had, after she got out of the hospital, assured her that it didn't matter what kind of rehab or detox she'd gone through, nobody ever got away from heroin, and she'd be back on it soon enough. Bizarrely enough, she was pretty sure they were trying to reassure her when they told her this, and when she informed them that she intended to stay clean, they'd both laughed in her face.

Kara sneered to herself. Why the fuck did she hang out with those two, anyway? She was really beginning to wonder...

Without warning, a searing hot, blinding spike of pain suddenly shot through the back of Kara's skull. Her eyes scrunched closed, tears streaming down her face, and opened her mouth to cry out, but her breath caught itself in her throat and she stumbled forward, only managing to keep her footing based on pure reflex. She could think of nothing but the pain, the intense, explosive, glowing pain in the back of her head.

And then she saw a tree. It was standing where 1428 had stood, where 1428 would one day stand, she somehow knew. It was dead; tall, black, and craggy, looking like a fierce, skeletal hand jutting out of the earth and toward the heavens.

A lightning bolt of new pain arced down her spin. Now the scene had changed. There were people standing around the tree, a whole crowd of them. They were wearing old fashioned clothes, hats and long coats, and ankle skirts and bonnets, and even a few powdered wigs. They were holding torches and pitchforks, looking very much like one of those angry mobs out of an old _Frankenstein_ film.

She gasped as the previous pain reversed directions, and shot back up her spine. Now she was standing amidst the crowd, the tree looming mere yards in front of her. There was a man standing at the front of the crowd, holding a big, thick rope in one hand, a long, single-shot musket in the other. The man was tall, and thin, but still quite intimidating to look at. He wore a thick, black long-coat, and wide-brimmed, brown hat. His long grey hair cascaded out from beneath the hat and hung well past his shoulders. His chin was sharp and narrow, his lips thin and stern, his face heavily lined and scarred. A particularly nasty looking scar ran all the way above the inline of the hat, down his forehead, across his right eye, and down to his jawline. His right eye itself was glassy and dead looking.

The rope he held in his hand was looped up and over one of the higher branches on the tree. The other end hung down... wrapped around the neck of a woman, in a noose, who was as intimidating looking as the man. She was young, with jet-black hair tied up in a bun, though strands of it hung down in front of her face. She wore a black, high-necked, ankle length dress, and her arms were bound behind her back. Her skin was porcelain white and smooth, and she would've been quite attractive... were it not for her yellow, red rimmed eyes that bore down intensely on the scarred man.

And she was laughing. Cackling hysterically, really. Despite the fact that she was about to die, this woman was laughing. The scarred man lifted his leg to kick the wooden stool the woman stood precariously on out from under her...

And then everything disappeared as, with one final explosion of pain directly behind her eyes, Kara's entire world went black...

Molly's eyes shot open and she sat up with a start. For what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality but a few fleeting seconds, panic gripped her as her drug-addled mind struggled to identify her unfamiliar surroundings. Then, slowly, it began coming back to her...

She was in a room, on the second floor of a condemned house. 1428 Elm Street. She and Tyler had been getting high, and then they... she smiled to herself, as she remembered what had followed. They must've really been going at it for her to have just passed out like that, especially considering that the two of them had been hopped up on some pretty powerful uppers. She glanced to the other side of the bed... and paused.

Tyler was gone.

She glanced around the room, bare except for a chipped and splintery looking closet door to her left, and a grime covered window to her right. Other than that, and a thick layer of dust, the room was completely empty.

Molly's eyes widened. The room was empty. Completely empty.

The clothes that had strewn the floor were gone. Her clothes.

A cold, hard feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Tyler was gone and she was completely alone and naked.

The creaking of the rusty hinges on the closet door suddenly jarred her out of her thoughts, and slowly, Molly's feelings of dread began to transform into feelings of irritation.

Tyler wasn't gone at all. He'd obviously woken up first, and thought it'd be funny to take her clothes and hide in the closet with them.

"Har dee har har fucking har..." Molly growled. She got to her feet and strode over to the closet. "Real fucking funny you stupid-"

The closet door suddenly slammed shut as Molly reached for the knob, causing her to yelp in surprise. It took her a moment to regain her composure. When she did, she growled, boring holes in the door with her eyes.

"Tyler, you better get your ass out here, and give me back my clothes, before I come in that closet and kick your ass!" she yelled, grabbing the doorknob and yanking the door open.

Star-filled blackness filled its interior.

Molly stared for a long moment, blinking. Slowly, very slowly, she stuck her hand through the closet's thresh hold, as far as she could reach waving her hand back and forth. She touched no back. No sides.

"The fuck...?"

She paused another moment before finally clamping a hand around the door's frame and leaning her entire upper body into the closet, reaching as far toward where the back of the closet should have been as she could. Still she could touch no back. Nothing but an endless void. She blinked again, slowly leaning back out of the closet.

"I'm still high..." she muttered to herself. "That's gotta be it. I'm still fuckin' high..."

_Screeeeeeeeeeech_!!

Molly's eyes went wide, and she swiftly spun in the direction of this new sound. It sounded like nails... no... like knives or razor-blades on a chalkboard... and it sounded like it was coming from the hallway!

For a long moment she heard nothing else.... then: _Thump_..._thump_... _thump_!

Footsteps. Loud, plodding, footsteps. Heading this direction.

Once again, Molly's heart began to race. And once again, she became keenly aware of the fact that she was naked...

"Tyler...?" she said weakly, almost afraid of what response she might get.

_Thump_!

"Tyler, if that's you, you'd better be bringing me my fucking clothes!"

_Thump_!

"Tyler, God dammit! Quit fucking around, and answer me!"

_THUMP_!

Molly stepped back, almost involuntarily. The footsteps, or whatever they were... they sounded like they were right outside the door. Molly braced herself, not knowing who, or what, was about to come through the door.

A small blonde-haired girl in a white dress stepped into the room, her hands over her face. She appeared to be crying.

Molly blinked a few times, completely caught off guard. The little girl stepped forward, sniffling. Slowly, Molly began to regain her composure.

"Who are you?" she demanded. Children annoyed her. The little girl didn't say anything. She just continued shuffling into the room, toward Molly. Molly's eyes narrowed. "Hey! I asked you a God damned question! Who the fuck are you?! What're you doing here?"

The little girl stopped. Slowly, her hands fell away from her face.

Blood drooled in thick, black streams from her ragged, empty eye-sockets. Molly screamed and stumbled backward. The little girl began shuffling toward her again, her mouth slowly opening, blood oozing from between her teeth and down her chin as she did so.

"This is his house..." the girl hissed, blood gurgling from her throat as she spoke. "This is his house... and he's coming for you..."

"Back the fuck off!" Molly screamed backing away... and almost stepping off the edge of the floor into the void of the closet, catching herself on the door frame just in time. She was trapped.

"You've made a mistake...a terrible, terrible mistake..." the girl continued, drawing closer and closer. Her eyeless sockets were focused squarely on Molly, as if she could see her... "The same mistake I made. The same mistake we all made... you came into his house. You gave yourself to him. And now you're going to pay for it..." The blood continued to flow down the girls face and neck, soaking into her white dress and trailing on the floor behind her as she walked. A toothy, red-tinted grin formed on the girl's face. "One... two... Freddy's coming for you!" The little girl raised her hands up, reaching for Molly. Molly glanced behind her at the void. The child's hands drew closer and closer...

Molly leapt into the void. She fell.

She fell through massive, empty space, the door immediately disappearing behind her. Slowly, the stars streaking around her as she fell began blinking out, one by one, until she fell through nothing but an endless blackness. She opened her mouth, screaming as loud as she could... but no sound escaped her lips. She twisted and thrashed as she tumbled through the emptiness, still trying to scream, desperately trying to scream, veins bulging from her throat, her eyes scrunching tightly closed as she tried...

She suddenly landed hard on her back, her head thudding off the cold hard surface of whatever she'd slammed into. She coughed violently, the wind knocked out of her lungs. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

The black void was gone. Dusty, cob-webbed crossbeams, moldy PVC. and rusty steel pipes crisscrossed a low ceiling no more than eight feet above her head. She could feel cool, concrete beneath her bare flesh. She quickly sat up, perplexed, and glanced around the room.

The room was dank and musty. A large, ancient looking furnace rested in one corner, a set of broken, splintery stairs leading up to a door in the other. The room was dark, the only light coming from a small, dying ember glowing within the furnace.

She was in a basement. Slowly she got to her feet. This is the most fucked up trip, she thought to herself. Glancing around the basement one last time, she moved toward the stairs. Just as she reached the first step, the door at the top suddenly burst open. A blinding white light burned from the other side, and Molly threw up a hand to block it out. Slowly, a figure stepped in the path of the light. Molly couldn't make out the figure very well, but it appeared to be male... and wearing a hat. Slowly the figure stepped onto the stairs, pulling the door shut behind him.

Freddy Krueger leered down at Molly from the top step, his face twisted into a sadistic grin.

"Well, hey there, babe..." he growled, looking her up and down. He slowly raised his clawed right hand, flicking the blades open. "I see you're ready to get started, you filthy little whore, you!"

Molly shrieked and turned to run... when one of the rusty pipes above her suddenly wrenched itself free from the ceiling and lashed down at her, wrapping itself tightly around her neck and constricting. Molly found herself unable to move... and unable to breath. From behind her, she heard the same, slow, plodding footsteps she'd heard in the room on the second floor, as Freddy drew up along side her.

"Now, where're you off to in such a hurry?" he rumbled into her ear chuckling darkly, as he brushed the back of his claws lightly down her spin, between her shoulder blades and down past the small of her back. "I heard you like to party... Doncha wanna party with me, bitch?"

"My, my, my, but you _are _a slow learner, aren't you Frederick?"

Freddy's eyes narrowed, and he wheeled in the direction of this new voice. Standing in the corner of the room by the furnace, her arms crossed, and a bemused smile on her lips, stood the black-haired woman in the colonial dress, amusement sparkling in her yellow, red-rimmed eyes.

"You again!" Freddy snarled. "How the hell do you keep getting into my Dreamscape?!"

The woman arched an eyebrow. "Oh, so it's _your_ Dreamscape, is it?"

The dying ember in the furnace suddenly exploded into a massive roaring flame, the door to the furnace snapping open as tendrils of fire slithered out. The woman didn't flinch.

"Yeah..." Freddy replied. "My Dreamscape. My world. My rules. So what the fuck are you doing here?"

The woman shrugged, her grin not fading. "The same thing as you, I suppose. Stewing in limbo. Completely impotent."

"Impotent!?" Freddy snapped. He gestured to Molly, still tangled up in the rusted piping. "Impotent?! You call that impotent?!"

The woman glanced over Freddy's shoulder, before looking back at him. "That pipe's wrapped around her neck pretty tightly, isn't it?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So... she's still alive, isn't she? She isn't even unconscious."

Freddy glanced back to Molly before glaring back at the woman. "Yeah? Well, watch this!"

And with that he flicked his wrist at the piping around Molly's neck... and nothing happened. Freddy paused a moment, flicking his wrist again. Still nothing. Slowly, Freddy's eyes began to widen. The woman smiled, nodding.

"Yes." she said, not bothering to hide her amusement. "Yes, that was quite impressive."

Freddy roared, leaping at Molly and lashing his claws across her belly. They passed right through, leaving the girl completely unharmed. Freddy wheeled on the dark-haired woman.

"You!!" he bellowed. "You're doing this!"

"I most certainly am not!" the woman replied in a mock-offended tone. "I would never do something so counter-productive."

"Well then what the fuck is this?!" Freddy snapped back. "My powers should be growing! I fed off the fear of that blonde-haired bitch that came in her two weeks ago! I told her my name! I sent her out into Springwood! I should be spreading like the plague by now!"

"Mmm..." the woman mused, nodding. "And just how many dreams have you appeared in since? This... blonde-haired bitch, as you put it... have you been appearing in any more of _her_ dreams since she left?"

Freddy didn't reply.

"Allow me to voice a hypothetical; could it be possible that the fear she felt from you wasn't real?" the woman continued. "That to her you were nothing more than a simple, bad dream? That she hasn't 'spread' the word of your name, because she has no idea who you are, and no idea that any dreams she had of you were of any significance whatsoever? Do you think that could be possible?"

Freddy sneered, but said nothing. What this woman was saying, unfortunately, made sense.

"What's all this to you?" he said finally.

"To me?" the woman replied. "In a word, Frederick darling... Everything! A chain of events... set into motion a very, very long time ago... has ridden solely on your success since the day you became what you are right now."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The woman waved a hand. "Never you mind that just now. It's not important."

"The fuck it isn't!" Freddy countered. "Sounds to me like you're trying to say I'm being played like a pawn! I ain't nobody's pawn! This world is _my_ chess board! And if someone else wants to play my game with me, they gotta play by my rules!"

The woman sighed. "Do you have any idea," she asked. "how powerless you would be without me?"

"Powerless?! Without you?!" Now it was Freddy's turn to laugh. "You just showed up, bitch! I've been playin' _my_ game for almost forty years now! Long before you ever came along! Every time the idiots of Springwood think they've defeated me, I've always come back!"

"Yes!" the woman snapped. Her grin had faded, and it appeared she had finally begun to lose patience. "Every time you've been defeated. And, just how many times _have _you been defeated, hm Frederick? How many people have beaten you? Have foiled your brilliant plans?" she began stepping toward him now. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Frederick, but the last time you were defeated... your last brilliant plan was foiled by a lumbering, mindless brute who was virtually incapable of independent thought... am I incorrect?"

The woman was face to face with Freddy now. Freddy's teeth were bared, and fury burned in his eyes.. but he had no response to what the woman said.

"And yes... every time you've come back... sometimes, for no reason... and you really think that it has been entirely through your own power that you've clung to your pathetic existence?" the woman spoke softly now, though her voice still dripped with venomous animosity. "You are a simpleton Krueger. And you haven't once proven yourself worthy of the power you've been given. But I..." and here a grin began slowly reforming on her face. "I am here to give you a chance to do just that... to break free of the chains that bind you to this house... to this town... to set you free to unleash your havoc on the world unfettered."

Freddy paused, contemplating what this woman was saying. "And... what's in this for you?" he said finally.

"For me?" the woman repeated. "Well, aside from the same freedoms as you, I have a very valuable stake in your success. Believe me when I say we both do. However... your methods are clearly getting us nowhere. I just may have an idea or two of my own, though..."

Freddy paused another long moment... before slowly nodding. "Alright... what do you have in mind?"

"Souls." the woman replied simply. "Souls are what give you your power. Fear helps... but souls are the true source of your abilities. And in order to get you out of this house and back into the nightmares of the babes in Springwood... we'll need to snag you a soul or two."

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

The woman smiled, before turning her attention to Molly. "Well, you can't harm this darling girl here, we've already proven that... but we have also learned that you aren't completely incapable of interacting with the children. And there are ways of... influencing certain events... without even having to do the dirty work yourself. Especially as long as these events transpire within this house."

Freddy glanced slowly back and forth between the dark-haired woman, and Molly... before a malicious grin slowly formed on his face. His gaze locked on Molly.

"Wanna do Freddy a favor, babe?" He asked, his eyes gleaming.

Tears streamed down Molly's face.

------------------------------------------------------

Molly's eyes snapped open, and she sat up shaking her head. Beside her, Tyler slept soundly, curled up naked on the moldy mattress. Molly blinked and shook her head. Everything was so foggy. She couldn't think straight. Everything felt so wrong and cloudy. It felt like static was hissing through her head. If only that static would go away... then she could think straight. But she couldn't. She was so disoriented.

Suddenly a voice cut through the static. _I can help you_.

"I can't think..." Molly moaned, shaking her head. "I can't... I can't think!"

_I can help you_. The voice repeated. _But you have to do something for me_.

The hissing was growing louder and louder. It didn't even feel like static even more. It felt like bugs. Like thousands of bugs were crammed in between her skull and her brain, and they were thrashing around, kicking their thousands of legs, tearing her brains to shreds! If it didn't stop, Molly was sure her head would explode!

_I can make this go away_! The voice said.

"What do I have to do!" Molly shrieked. "Just tell me what I have to do?!"

For a long, agonizing moment, Molly could hear nothing but the bugs in her head, kicking, thrashing, screaming. Then finally: _You know what you have to do_...

And she did. It seemed so simple. So clear! The only thing that seemed clear now! Slowly, she stumbled from the bed, and moved toward the pile of clothes on Tyler's side. She began rummaging through the pockets, until finally she found what she was looking for: Tyler's Altoid tin. Her hands shaking, she tore the tin open, and dumped out the contents. Pills scattered all over the floor... along with something else. Molly knelt down, brushing aside the spilled pills... and picking up a small razor blade that Tyler kept in the tin for occasions when he had something a little more potent than the pills to get high with. Slowly, she stood, her eyes shifting from the razor blade in her hand to the sleeping form of Tyler.

_Do it_! The voice in her head said. It sounded excited now. _Do it now_! _And when you're finished... take that blade to your belly... and don't stop digging until the surprise falls out!_

Molly nodded, a grin slowly crawling across her face. The bugs were gone. Everything seemed so clear now. She knew exactly why she was here. Exactly what she needed to do...

------------------------------------------------------

The side of Kara's face throbbed. That was the first thing she noticed as she regained consciousness. The second was the rough feeling of the concrete on her cheek. The third was the slick, coppery tasting liquid that was trickling out of her mouth. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

She was laying on her side on the concrete sidewalk on Elm Street. Her face was aching, her left eye was swollen, and she was pretty sure one of her upper left molars had been knocked out. Slowly, she pushed herself up off the ground, dimly aware of the small puddle of blood that had pooled where her head had been. Kara's mind raced as she tried to remember what had happened.

And then, in a flash, it all came back to her. The blinding pain. The bizarre visions of the lynch mob hanging the woman. She'd blacked out, and must've collapsed and busted her face on the sidewalk as she feel. Slowly, she staggered to her feet.

And a piercing shriek cut through the night.

Kara spun in the direction of the house across the street. 1428. The scream sounded like it had come from there. It had sounded like-

The shriek came again.

Kara's eyes widened. It was _definitely_ Molly! The pain in the side of her face suddenly a distant memory, Kara darted across the street, vaulting the orange construction fencing and running up the walkway to the house's front door. The door was ajar, Kara barely noticing it as she pushed passed it and raced into the house.

"Molly?" she called, upon reaching the foyer, pain spiking through her jaw as she spoke. She ignored it. "Molly where are you?"

"Kara...?" came the weak reply. It was coming from upstairs! Kara quickly dashed up the stairs. She didn't even bother with the door at the top. She instantly saw the source.

Standing in the doorway a the end of the hallway that stretched out to the left of the stairway was Molly. She was completely naked. In her right hand she held a small, blood soaked razor blade. Her left hand was clutching a bloody wound in her stomach. Blood poured down her chin, and tears streamed down her eyes as she stared out at Kara.

"Kara..." she croaked weakly. "I'm..."

Her hand fell away from her stomach, and Kara screamed. Blood gushed from the ragged wound, and Molly's intestines pulsed within the opening for one brief moment, desperately trying to continue performing their functions... before suddenly uncoiling like a snake and spilling out onto the floor. Molly twitched violently before her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed into the now massive pool of her own blood.

Kara stood frozen in horror for what felt like forever before slowly creeping toward Molly. She crouched beside her, shaking her, even as she realized how absolutely insane it was to do so. There was no way Molly was still alive. Slowly she looked up... and shrieked again.

Tyler lay, as naked as Molly, stretched out face up on the bed. His throat was slashed wide open, the white bone of his spine gleaming from within the ragged red mass of the wound. His achilles tendons were slashed, and his wrists were cut vertically from the inside of his elbows to the bottom of the palms of his hands. The moldy mattress was completely soaked through with blood, a massive red river flowing on either side of the bed.

And written in what could only have been Tyler or Molly's own vital fluids, in a crude scrawl on the wall above the bed was a single phrase:

_One... Two... Freddy's Coming For You..._


	3. Nancy's Diary

"**Nancy's Diary"**

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------**

"_Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,  
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —  
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." _

_--Edgar Allan Poe "The Raven"_

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------**

_The same night..._

Rory awoke with a start when the phone rang, sitting straight up in bed, and catching herself from screaming just in time. She paused a moment, taking a few deep breaths, before the phone out in the hall rang again, startling her once more. Her eyes immediately flashed to the small, digital alarm clock on the night stand next to her bed. The red digits "1:42 a.m." flashed back at her. She'd been asleep for only two hours. Who the hell was calling at almost two o'clock in the morning?

Across the hall, she could hear the floorboards of the house creak as her father got out of bed. A light clicked on in the hallway, seeping in under Rory's door, and a moment later Rory heard her father speak, his voice a mixture of sleepiness and irritation.

"What is it?" he snapped groggily. A long moment of silence went by, before he spoke again. His tone suddenly sounded much more awake... even a bit frantic. "What...? What are you... are you sure? When the hell did this happen? _How_ the hell did this happen?! ...I'll be right there."

Rory heard the sound of the phone being slammed back onto the receiver. Her door cracked ajar a few seconds later.

"Hey, Rory?" Donald whispered. There was still definitely something wrong with his tone. He almost sounded a bit stunned, though he was doing his best to cover it up.

"Yeah, dad?"

The door swung open the rest of the way. Donald stood on the other side of the threshold in a blue bathrobe and black slippers, his eyes wide.

"You're still awake?"

Rory shrugged, brushing a lock of her long blonde hair out of her eyes. "Sorta. The phone kinda woke me up."

"Oh. Right." Donald replied simply. Another long moment went by.

"Um..." Rory said, breaking the awkward silence. "Everything okay, dad?"

Donald blinked as if just coming out of a trance. "Yeah! Yeah, everything's... okay. Um... something happened at the house."

Rory furrowed her brow. "The house?"

"Yeah... the one I bought for the property? On Elm Street?"

An involuntary shudder suddenly wracked Rory's spine. Her father cocked an eyebrow.

"You okay? Need me to turn up the thermostat?"

Rory shook her head. "I'm fine."

Donald nodded slowly before speaking again. "Anyway, I gotta go take care of this. I'll be back in a little while, alright?"

"You have to go? Now? In the middle of the night?"

Donald nodded again. "Yeah..." his tone sounded very far away.

Rory tilted her head. "What happened."

"It's..." Donald paused a moment, before shaking his head and waving a hand. "We shouldn't really talk about it right now. I'll tell you in the morning, alright?"

Rory thought about protesting, and then realized that whatever had happened at that house that was forcing someone to call her father out there at this hour, it was probably something she didn't need to be hearing about at the moment. She nodded.

"Alright, dad."

Donald nodded back."I'll be back later. Try to get back to sleep."

"Will do."

Donald paused a moment, looking as though he wanted to say something else, before simply pulling the door closed instead. A moment later, the light from the hall went out, and Rory heard her father's footsteps heading for the living room. Another moment later, she heard the front door close and lock. Rory reached over to the small lamp that stood on her nightstand, next to the alarm clock and quickly switched it on. For some reason, the prospect of being alone in the dark seemed very unnerving right now. Getting back to sleep probably wasn't going to be an option.

Rory sighed, letting her hands fall back into her lap, glancing around her room. It was a tidily kept room, the walls painted a pleasant, sky blue, while the ceiling was painted white, giving the entire space a summery sky kind of feel. There was a bookshelf full of books of all shapes and sizes on the wall to the left of her bed, a dresser on the wall to the right with an assortment of beautification products that Rory barely used on top of it. A mirror with miscellaneous photos of Rory, her friends, and family jammed into its frame rested on the wall just above the dresser. A writing desk that Rory had used for drawing in junior high, but mainly just used for homework now, rested on the wall next to the door, and a window, with the blinds drawn, was on the wall just above the headboard of Rory's bed.

She hadn't exactly been sleeping well the past two weeks, only managing to get around four or five hours of sleep a night. Six if she was lucky. And it was always a fleeting, light sleep that the slightest noise would jar her out of. She wasn't sure why... well actually she knew exactly why.

It all stemmed from that bizarre nightmare she'd had when she'd fallen asleep in the car outside that house on Elm Street. The one about the creepy woman in black and that horribly burned man with the claws. The dream that had quite frankly been the most vivid and intense dream of her life.

But all that aside, it had still been just a dream. Rory had had nightmares before, and she wasn't sure what it was about this particular bad dream that frightened her so much, but every time she laid down to go to sleep, a lingering fear that she was going to see that burned man again always rested heavily in the back of her mind. She hadn't had any more dreams of him, thankfully, but the fear was there. It was the end of the nightmare that had done it. What the man had said just before she'd woken up.

_"Go back, little piggy! Back home. Back to the real world... tell 'em Freddy sent ya!"_

"Freddy..." Rory whispered to herself. She had absolutely no idea why, but the name itself filled her with dread. And it wasn't just because of the dream. It was as if the name itself were a taboo word. Like cursing in the middle of church, or talking about the Holocaust in a synagogue.

Rory shook her head, brushing her hair out of her face, and glancing around the room again. She wasn't going to be getting any sleep tonight, that much was sure. Might as well find something more interesting to do. She swung her bare legs over the edge of the bed, standing up and tugging the bottom of her tank top down over the waistband of the athletic shorts she wore to sleep in, before striding toward the door. As she turned the knob and started to pull she paused. The book on the edge of her drawing table had caught her eye.

It was the worn, red leather-bound book that her father had found in the Elm Street house. The diary. Rory had tossed it onto the table when she and her father had gotten home the night they'd gotten home from viewing the house, and she hadn't touched it since. Partially because she'd felt uncomfortable going through someone else's diary, even if it had been discarded for years in a rundown house... and partially because anything coming out of that house seemed to carry a malevolence that the rational side of Rory's mind insisted was just because of that wicked, but ultimately harmless bad dream.

Rory wasn't sure why the book had just now caught her eye... but for some reason she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something extremely important to be found within its pages. A long moment went by before she finally picked the book up, taking it with her as she left her room and headed for the kitchen.

------------------------------------------------------

fSheriff Williams leaned against the hood of his police cruiser, removing his hat with his right hand, while rubbing the bridge of his nose with the left. In front of him loomed 1428 Elm Street, its orange construction fencing now replaced with yellow "Crime Scene" tape. Nobody had said much as they cleaned up the mess at 1428. The detectives, patrolmen, the coroner... they'd all seen it before. There wasn't much to be said about the Elm Street Murder House.

Well, actually there was plenty to be said about it, to be sure. But none that you talked about in polite company. In his many years as the head of this jurisdiction, he'd been here a lot more than he cared to think about, and every time everyone knew what it meant. It was starting all over again. It was the same thing every time. The rookies barfed their guts out, while the vets mentally prepared themselves for what was inevitably to follow.

Some how, some way, Fred Krueger had returned. Just like he always had. Just like he probably always would. And what had happened here was only going to be the beginning.

Williams glanced over to the ambulance parked a few yards away from his cruiser. The thin teenaged girl with the purple streaks in her brown hair, who'd hysterically called in the murder was sitting in the vehicle's open back door, a blanket wrapped around her, her eyes staring wide and vacantly off into the distance, as other officers and paramedics bustled around her. What would follow when the girl finally calmed down and started answering questions would go one of two ways. The first was that she would be completely and totally confused as to what had happened. She'd have no idea how this could've happened to her friends and would want nothing more than to go home. This was the preferred scenario. This scenario _did_ end with the young lady being sent home.

The other scenario was less desirable. The girl would claim she knew who did it. It was the man in the hat, she would say, the scarred and burned man with the claws on his right hand! He comes to us in his dreams! You have to do something! Sheriff Williams would have to do something alright, if that were the case. He'd immediately have to have the poor girl shunted off to Westin Hills, where she'd basically be force fed Hypnocil and told lies about how the scarred man she'd seen didn't exist, never had existed, and was simply the product of a combination of bad dreams and mass hysteria. And she wouldn't be allowed to leave until she accepted this explanation as fact. And judging from this girl's record, this Kara Murphy's file, she'd been to Westin Hills before, and hadn't exactly had a pleasant stay the last time.

The Sheriff's thoughts were interrupted as a car suddenly pulled up to the line of cruiser's parked in front of the house. A fancy looking BMW had just pulled up, before its headlights blinked out and its engine was cut. A brown haired, middle aged man stepped out of the driver's side. His tan trench coat and brown loafers would have contrasted amusingly in any other situation with the pajama pants and t-shirt that he wore. But there was nothing amusing about tonight.

The man glanced around before spotting Sheriff Williams. He stepped up to him, glancing around nervously as he did so. Williams paused before speaking.

"Something I can help you with, sir?"

The man slowly nodded. "I'm, uh... Donald Lawson."

The sheriff raised an eyebrow.

"I'm the-." Donald continued.

Williams nodded. "Yeah, I know who you are. You're the guy that bought this place two weeks ago."

Donald was slightly taken aback. There was an annoyed, almost spiteful tone in the sheriff's voice. "Yeah... yeah, that's me."

"Hm." Williams crossed his arms. "I assume you know about this house's history then..."

Donald sighed. Here we go again, he thought. "Yeah, I know all about this place and all about what has happened here. The real estate agent made it all abundantly clear. First real estate agent I've ever met who tried her damndest to convince me _not_ to buy a house."

"And you bought it anyway?"

Now it was Donald's turn to cross his arms. "Please, sheriff, I hardly believe in death curses or bad voodoo or whatever the deal is with this house. Just because there've been murders here in the past doesn't mean it'll happen again."

"Oh really?" replied the sheriff. He gestured to the house. "Because that sure as hell looked like a murder up there to me tonight. Why don't you go look at it, tell me what _you_ think it is."

Donald sighed. "Oh, _are_ we finally going to get around to talking about what I was called up here for, or are you going to keep lecturing me about how stupid I am for buying the Amityville house?"

Williams glared at Donald. "Two teenagers were killed in the house tonight. A young man and a girl. Tyler Norton and Molly Webster. Do those names mean anything to you?"

Donald shook his head. Williams nodded, before continuing.

"Didn't think so. Looks like it was a murder-suicide. The two were apparently doing drugs and having sex. Then at some point, the girl took a razor blade out of the boy's pill box and cut him up pretty good before using it to dig her own guts out. That's when their friend over there found them..." he nodded to the skinny girl sitting on the back of the ambulance.

Donald's face blanched as Williams casually talked about the murder. It took him a moment to regain his composure. "Alright... so a couple of kids got high and killed each other. It's unfortunate, but it happens."

The Sheriff sighed. "How long have you been living in our little town, Mr. Lawson?"

Donald paused a moment, caught off guard by the question, before answering. "About two and a half years. My daughter and I moved here after my divorce was finalized. We-"

Williams put up a hand, cutting him off, before nodding. "Right. I thought as much. You haven't been around during any of the incidences that our town has had that revolve around this house. You don't know any better, so I should probably cut you some slack. But I'm not going to. I'm only going to tell you this once, Mr. Lawson. This house shouldn't be renovated. It should not be remodeled, and it should not be rebuilt. This house should be boarded up, ignored, and left to rot. Preferably for the entire duration of our planet's existence."

Donald paused a moment, his eyes narrowing. "You can't be serious."

"I'm always serious, Mr. Lawson."

Donald glanced over at the house before looking back at the sheriff. "I'm not going to do that, sheriff. I bought this house with the intention of completely rebuilding and rebeautifying the property. And that's what I intend to do. I've got bills to pay and a daughter who's going to need college tuition before too long."

"Mr. Lawson, if you really cared about your daughter, you'd leave that house alone."

Donald's eyes widened. "Is that a threat?"

The sheriff sighed, rolling his eyes. "No, it's not a threat, you..." he paused another moment, stopping himself from saying anything insulting. "That house is bad news. Trust me when I say that."

Donald glanced at the house again. He looked at it for a long moment before speaking.

"Am I still within my legal rights to continue my plans with the house."

Williams groaned inwardly. He was obviously not getting through to this man. "Once the investigation ends... yes."

Donald nodded. "Well, then I have every intention of rebuilding and placing this puppy back out on the market. Sorry, sheriff."

Williams shrugged. "Police investigations are complicated. It could go on for a long time."

"Murder-suicide. You said so yourself. Seems pretty cut and dry to me."

"Lotta technicalities can come up."

Donald shrugged back. "I'm a patient man. I can wait."

"Could go on for a _very _long time."

"I'm a _very _patient man. With a very good lawyer."

Williams said nothing more. He just glared at Donald now. Donald glared back.

"We done?" he finally asked.

Williams said nothing for a long moment, before nodding. "We're done. There's a few papers we'll need you to sign at the station... those can wait until tomorrow."

"Good deal." Donald turned to head back to his car.

"However," Williams suddenly said, before Donald could take another step. "Some of the detectives inside may have a few questions for you. Why don't you go talk to them before you leave?"

Donald sighed, slowly turning back to the sheriff and giving him a dark glare, before moving toward the house. Williams watched him duck below the police tape, and walk up the walkway, before disappearing into the house's open door.

He supposed he really couldn't blame Lawson for the way he was behaving. If Williams hadn't been here for most of the incidences that had occurred here (as well as other houses on this street and even other areas of the town) he'd probably have reacted the same way. It just would've made life a lot easier if Lawson had just listened to what Williams had to say.

The Sheriff allowed his gaze to fall back on the house itself. The tactics for dealing with the place hadn't always been this way. In fact, for a long time, the town as a whole had done nothing but encourage people to live there. They tried to throw a blanket of normalcy over it, sometimes even using tax payer's money to remodel the place itself, to keep it appealing as it remained on the market. If it was just a normal house inhabited by just a normal family, it would draw less attention than if it rotted and decayed on an otherwise pleasant looking street.

And every time, every _single_ time, a new family had inhabited the house, the murders started all over again. After the last time, seven years ago... it had been the last straw. The consensus had been that it would be safer to let the house rot than ever let anyone set foot on the premises again. The house went back on the market, and the real estate agent had been told to never push the house again. The city had even thought about buying the house itself, but decided even that might draw too much attention to it. Better to let it rot on the market.

No one had expected some desperate hot shot like Lawson to show up and throw a wrench in the gears.

"Who is Freddy?"

Williams's eyes widened, and he turned quickly in the direction of the voice. The girl in the back of the ambulance, Kara, was no longer staring off into space, instead looking directly at the sheriff now. Williams paused for a long moment, before speaking.

"I'm sorry?"

"Freddy..." Kara replied, softly. "The... words on the wall in the house... they said something about someone named Freddy. Do you know who that is?"

The sheriff shot a quick glance at the house before looking back at Kara. "I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am. There were no words on the wall."

Kara looked at the sheriff for a long moment, disbelief in her eyes. "Yes there was!" she said finally. "I saw it myself! It was in blood... Molly's blood, or Tyler's blood, I don't know, but I know I saw it."

Williams sighed. He had, in fact, seen the words on the wall, and knew full well what they meant, and who had put them there. But _not _being privy to this information would be for Kara's own good. "The room was dark, and after what you had just seen it's not surprising your eyes were playing tricks on you. But I can assure you, young lady, there was absolutely nothing written on the wall in that room. Now, why don't you just relax. Your parents have been called, and they'll be meeting us back at the station as soon as-"

"I know what I saw!" Kara snapped, interrupting Williams. "My eyes weren't playing tricks on me! I had fifteen minutes to get get a good God damned look at it, while you people took your sweet ass time getting here! Now I want to know what it meant."

She absently scratched at the track marks beneath her arm warmers once again. This didn't go unnoticed by Williams. The sheriff tilted his head, a suspicious look crossing his face.

"We found an awful lot of drugs in that room. You and your friends like to get high?"

Kara met his gaze without flinching. "Used to. Not anymore. I went through rehab, and now I'm fuckin' clean as a whistle."

"So you'd have no problems taking a little drug test back at the station before answering a few questions?"

Kara's eyes narrowed and she bit back the urge to curse at the sheriff. She could hear it in his tone of voice.... he knew more than he was letting on. She'd struck a nerve when she'd asked about the name on the wall, and now he was trying to take the focus off of himself by going on the offensive. Whatever he knew, he clearly had no intention of telling Kara, and she figured it'd be best to quit now and stop trying to push the issue, before he _really _started trying to pin things on her.

"No problems whatsoever." she said finally, crossing her arms.

------------------------------------------------------

Rory set the steaming cup of coffee she'd fixed for herself down on the counter in front of her, letting it cool. She was seated on a stool at the counter island in the middle of the kitchen on the first floor. Before her, on the counter, still closed, was the red diary. Rory looked at it for only a second longer, pushing aside any final lingering feelings of weirdness she felt for going through someone else's diary, and finally opened the cover.

On the cover's interior was a little box labeled "this book belongs to:" with the words "Nancy Thompson" handwritten in in pencil. Below the name the address "1428 Elm Street, Springwood, OH" was scrawled, and below that still was written the year: "1981"

This diary was twenty-nine years old! It was older than Rory! Whoever this belonged to must be an adult by now! Rory immediately felt less guilty about looking though it now, knowing that what she was looking at was something twenty-nine years removed from today, and if the owner had really had any emotional attachment to it, they probably wouldn't have left it in that house for going on three decades now. Rory turned to the diary's first entry:

_February 17__th__ – My Birthday. Daddy came by today with a big ol' stuffed bear for me! He took me to dinner and a movie and when we got back, he and Mother had another one of their fights. He left angry... I wish they would stop fighting..._

Rory sighed. God, did she know what that was like. Her mother and father had fought almost constantly for the final two years of their marriage. It had gotten so bad that her mother had demanded her own room in the house to sleep in, even before the two had decided on a divorce. Though still technically a minor, her parents had made the decision to allow Rory to choose who she'd rather stay with, rather than fighting over custody. Rory hadn't forgotten the look in her mother's eyes when she'd announced that she intended to stay with her dad.

It hadn't been an angry or hurt look. Rory would've understood either of those.

It was a look of relief.

Rory and her mother had never had the relationship she and her father had. Rory had gotten along with her mother, sure. She wasn't one of those kids who always moaned and complained about their parents, Rory always prided herself on how much she _liked _her parents. But she had never been able to shake the fact that her mother had always felt a bit distant. Sometimes she had felt as though maybe she hadn't been a part of her mother's plans.

That feeling was only reinforced the day she saw that look in her mother's eyes.

She'd visited her mother off and on for the six months between when her mother had moved out, and when the divorce had been finalized. After that, she and her father had moved upstate to Springwood. She'd received a few phone calls from her mother since... though growing fewer in frequency as time went on.

And her mother had never once asked her if she ever wanted to come and visit.

Rory shook her head, realizing she'd been staring off into space for a long time, before glancing back down at the diary. It seemed she and Ms. Thompson had a thing or two in common after all. Ah, divorce. It brings the generations together. Rory turned the page and read the next entry.

_March 7__th__ – Glen asked me to sleep with him again. I can't yet – I like him, I want to make him happy – but I'm not sure that I love him. I can't sleep with someone I don't love._

Rory grinned to herself. Ah, atypical teenage angst. Granted, Rory herself was only 16, but she liked to feel that she was above such things. Of course, Rory was also pretty sure most kids her age _felt_ they were above such things... but still! She didn't spend a lot of time fretting over boys, because quite frankly, she didn't really see any point in it for the time being. The odds of her finding someone she could really connect with and have a meaningful, lasting relationship with, at the age of 16, were astronomically low. She read on.

_Sometimes when I'm lying here in bed, I can see Glen, in his window across the way, getting ready for bed. His body is slim and smooth and I know I shouldn't watch but that part of me that wants him forces me to. That's when I weaken. That's when I want to go to him..._

Rory actually laughed out loud at this last bit. Wow, Ms. Thompson apparently had it bad for this Glen fellow. Still, the thoughts she wrote about him in her journal, her secret, deepest thoughts, though cheesy enough, seemed awful tame. Perhaps Ms. Thompson had repression issues? Rory grinned to herself, almost anxious to read on now. She glanced at the next page and read its entry.

_March 15__th__ – He comes to me at night... Horrible. Ugly. Dirty. Under the sheets with me, tearing at my nightgown with his steel claw..._

A lump formed in Rory's throat, and instantly her smile vanished. Who came to her at night? Steel claw? That couldn't possibly be... no! Of course not! She wouldn't even allow herself to think that. Not really sure why, she continued to read.

_His name is Fred and he keeps taking me to the boiler room. He wants to kill me..."_

Rory's heart skipped a beat, and her blood froze in her veins. Fred?

_"Tell 'em Freddy sent ya!"_

"It can't be..." Rory muttered to herself. Coincidence. It had to be.

That's right, said a voice in the back of her mind. The fact that you and this girl from three decades ago had the same dream about a horrible man named Fred, with claws, couldn't possibly be anything but coincidence. Sure. That's believable.

She should stop reading the book. Right now. She had initially felt reading it was a bad idea, and she'd proven herself right. She should close the book right now and throw it in the trash. Or the trash _compactor_! Better still, she should burn it and then put what was _left_ in the trash compactor!

Instead, though, she simply read on.

The next entry was unnerving in its simplicity. It was undated, and was just a single line long.

_Tina is dead._

"Oh my God..." Rory whispered to herself.

The next entry was also undated. The pretty, loopy handwriting that the diary had started with had now been replaced with a manic scrawl.

_Rod's been killed – he got Rod! Just Glen and me now. Can't fall asleep!_

It was the last entry in the book.

"Nine... ten... never sleep again..." Rory paused and shook her head, after whispering the words to herself. She hadn't even meant to say them. They had just slipped. As if she'd just said them subconsciously.

"That's right, blondie!" a raspy, guttural voice suddenly said. "Don't fall asleep!"

Rory's eyes shot wide as she recognized the voice. She quickly looked up.

Freddy Krueger was crouched on the counter in front of her.

"Whoops!" he continued, grinning. "Too late!" He flicked open his claws.

Rory shot awake, sitting up stock straight in the stool, her eyes flashing around the room. It took a long time for her breathing and heart rate to get back under control. In front of her, the counter was empty, save for the open diary and the now lukewarm cup of coffee that she hadn't touched. There was no sign of Freddy.

"I must've dozed off..." Rory muttered softly to herself. "It was a dream... just a dream..."

She slowly glanced down at the diary.

The same undated journal entry greeted her. _Can't fall asleep!_ It seemed to scream at her. She sighed. She'd been half hoping what she'd read had been a dream too.

"You shouldn't have read that book..."

Rory gasped, her eyes darting up and away from the book. Standing across from her, on the other side of the counter was a woman. She looked older than Rory, though still young, maybe her early twenties. She was very pretty, with long, thick, wavy brown hair, though a small shock in the front was a bleached white color. She was dressed in a flowing, long sleeved, virgin white gown, that almost seemed to glow in the light of the kitchen, giving her a near-angelic appearance. An extraordinarily, almost overwhelming look of sadness rested on the woman's face. And in spite of the fact that Rory had no idea who this strange woman was, or how she'd gotten into her kitchen, she immediately felt at ease at her presence. She didn't know how to explain it. The woman just seemed to radiate tranquility.

"Who... who are you?" Rory asked finally. The woman merely shook her head in response.

"You shouldn't have read that..." she repeated. "Now you know too much. You know enough to be afraid of him..."

Rory's eyes widened slightly as the woman spoke.

"You mean... Freddy?" she asked, already knowing the answer. The woman nodded in response.

"He's come back..." she said softly. "Somehow, he always manages to come back."

"Come back?"

The woman nodded again. "Yes. You aren't the first person to have encountered him. Not by a long shot. And it's doubtful you'll be the last."

Rory raised an eyebrow. "But... he's... he's just a dream, right? These things in this diary... he wasn't really responsible for these things, was he? How could he be?"

The woman shook her head again. "You poor thing. There's so much you don't know... there's so much you're not prepared for. Freddy Krueger and the dreams he inhabits are most certainly not normal dreams. Normal dreams are nothing but flashes of the subconscious, visions of hidden or buried thoughts that the brain turns into visuals as you sleep. Your encounters with Krueger have all taken place in your shard of the Dreamscape..."

Rory furrowed her brow. "My shard of the what?"

The woman shook her head, walking around the counter to stand face to face with Rory.

"It's not important." she replied. "What is important is that you realize anything that happens to you while you dream in the Dreamscape will carry over to the real world. That's what Krueger's power is. He has the ability to manipulate and control the Dreamscape and everything in it."

"And he uses this ability to... hurt people? Why?"

The woman shrugged. "Because he can. And the more people he kills, the more souls he takes. And the more souls he takes, the more powerful he becomes."

"But... but he couldn't hurt me!" Rory said suddenly. "The first time he attacked me, he couldn't hurt me! He said he wasn't strong enough!"

"That's right," said the woman. "Fred Krueger draws his power from two things: the souls he collects from his victims, and the fear that he generates in the inhabitants of this town. It is due to an ignorance of his existence and a lack of fear that he has remained trapped and powerless in that house on Elm Street for the past seven years..."

"1428..." Rory said softly. The woman nodded again.

"Somehow, he's found a way to escape the confines of that house. However, he still isn't powerful enough to cause any real harm yet... otherwise I wouldn't have been able to push him out of your dream so easily."

"You pushed him out...?" Rory started to say, before trailing off. "So... that means I'm still dreaming?"

"Yes," responded the woman. "And furthermore, I believe that while Krueger has managed to free himself, his reach is still limited only to you. And he still can't harm you." the woman placed a warm, soft hand on Rory's now. "Now this is very important. You have to understand that while Fred Krueger can and will be coming to you, as long as you are able to keep your fear in check, he will not be able to harm you or anyone else. No matter what he says, or what he shows you, he cannot hurt anyone."

"So... as long as I don't let him scare me... he won't get anymore powerful?" Rory asked.

"Exactly," the woman replied. "It's important that you realize this... because now that I've made myself known to him, his guard will be up. And while he might not be able to harm you, his control over the Dreamscape is still absolute. I won't be able to push my way in so easily, if at all, in the future. You'll be alone against him. You just _have_ to remember... as long as you're not afraid of him... he can't hurt you."

Rory paused, before nodding slowly. This was a hell of a lot to take in all at once. A small smile appeared on the woman's lips for the first time when Rory nodded, though the sadness in her eyes was still very evident.

"You're a strong girl, Rory." the woman said. "I can tell. Cling to that strength. You're going to need it for what's to come. There's a darkness flowing into the Dreamscape from the house on Elm Street. It's a very powerful, very old darkness that I fear may run even deeper than Krueger himself. Something very dark is on the horizon... something I don't think any of us are going to be prepared for..."

Suddenly, behind Rory, the door in the back of the kitchen that lead out to the garage swung open... but what lie on the other side of the threshold was most certainly not the garage. A blinding white light burned from within the door's frame, and Rory had to avert her gaze from it. The woman, meanwhile began stepping toward it. Just before stepping into the light, the woman turned back to Rory.

"If worst comes to worst..." she said. "and you have no other options... call on me. I will do my best to come to you. But I can't promise you anything."

"What do I call you?" Rory asked, her forearm up to block the blinding light emanating from the doorway. "What _is_ your name?"

"I... no longer truly have a name..." the woman replied. "However... once upon a time... my name was Nancy."

And with that, she turned and stepped through the threshold, the door slamming shut behind her.

Rory's eyes snapped open as she heard the door to the garage shut, and she quickly sat up and spun around on the stool. Her father stood in front of the door, a quizzical expression on his face as he saw his daughter. He looked down at his watch, before looking back up at her.

"It's five in the morning." he said.

"It is?" Rory glanced over her shoulder at the digital clock on the microwave. "5:00 a.m." blinked back at her. She turned back to her father and offered him a half-hearted grin. "Huh. Guess it is."

Donald glanced from her, to the still full coffee mug and open diary on the counter behind her.

"Were you up all night?" he asked.

"Oh, no!" Rory quickly replied. "I... couldn't sleep after you left, so I _did _come down here and make some coffee... but I'm pretty sure I dozed off fairly quickly. Don't even think I ever actually touched the coffee."

Donald nodded, before yawning loudly. "Well... what's say you and I call up school and work and have a sick day today?"

"Um... it's Saturday?"

"Right... well, let's go back to sleep anyway, shall we? I'm exhausted..."

Donald immediately strode toward the door to the foyer.

"Dad?" said Rory.

Donald paused. Slowly he turned back to Rory.

"I know what you're going to ask," he said before Rory could say another word. "And I'm... not really sure I think we should discuss it just now, alright? Let's just say something happened at the house I bought... something not good. The police were called, and I had to go over there and answer a few questions, alright? I'll explain it to you more in the morning, but right now, I just want to go get some sleep, alright?"

Rory sat in silence for a long moment. Something _had_ happened at 1428 tonight. Something bad. Something that contributed to Krueger's escape...

Unless of course, it was all just an elaborate dream. Freddy, that woman in white... maybe it was just all in her head. She glanced quickly down at the still open diary.

_Can't fall asleep._

She knew it hadn't been just a simple dream.

Slowly, she nodded her head. "Alright, dad. We'll talk about it whenever."

Donald clasped his hands together, and bowed.

"Much thankfulness, Rory-san" he said. Rory laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Super nerd... seriously." she responded.

Donald waved a hand at her. "Then to bed!" he said. "And I suggest you do the same. They'd probably make you check those bags under your eyes at the airport."

"Ummm..." Rory glanced at the diary again, before looking back up at her dad. "Actually, if it's all the same to you, I think I'm just gonna go ahead and stay up."

Donald raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

Rory nodded. "I'm sure."

Donald shook his head. "You crazy kids and your unlimited wellsprings of stamina. I'll never understand it. Well... have fun watching the sun rise, kiddo."

Rory nodded. "Will do."

And with that, Donald turned and headed into the foyer. A moment later, Rory heard his footsteps as he walked upstairs. Rory sighed, glancing down at the diary again. She looked at its pages for another long minute, before grabbing her cold mug of coffee, pouring it out in the sink, and heading over to the coffee maker to brew herself another cup.


	4. Asylum

**Author's note: **Wooo! I'm back, baby! Sorry about the long... **ahem**Twoyears**ahem**...wait for the next chapter. Sometimes those hiatuses... hiatusi... hia... sometimes those long creative breaks just sneak up on you unexpectedly. I hadn't intended for it to be that long at all. I've just been so busy, lately (I'm a creative writing minor in college, so sometimes my fanfics and stuff get sidelined by the stories I actually HAVE to write for school... but that's almost over, graduation this winter, woo!) But there is something special about this story I feel, something that prevents me from allowing it all to fall along the wayside, like so many others I've written. So... I'm back, to take another crack at it, and whatnot.

A few words: firstly, I've upped the time period for this story. Initially, it took place in 2008, but I'm bumping it up to 2010. Mostly because I want there to have been more time since Freddy's last big attack (FvJ).

Also, you'll probably notice this chapter is light on the Freddy. He's heavily mentioned, but makes no appearance. This is because I plan to spend a lot of time, not just reveling in the murder and mayhem (though there will be plenty of that later) but also developing my protagonists. I like these guys. Just as much as I like Freddy. And make no mistake, the way I write him, Freddy is the antagonist. He's the bad guy. So, don't expect this to be one of those ultra Freddy glorifying fics, where the characters exist only to be mowed down by him, 'cause that ain't the way it works 'round here.

Anyway, I talk to much. Though, chances are, if you didn't wanna read the author's note, you've already skipped it. So, without further ado, I give you this, the fourth chapter of Nightmare House!

"**Asylum"**

"_Oh, you can't help that. We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."_

_-The Cheshire Cat, "Through the Looking Glass"_

_The following afternoon..._

Kyle sighed to himself as he stood looking at the sign above the entrance to the Happy Cow. The sign depicted a large, smiling cartoon cow. The picture of such a happy character simply made him dread what loomed before him even more. Through the diner's large, front window, he could see Lisa seated by herself at a booth inside, absently staring at a menu. Waiting for him. He and Lisa had been back in Athens, Ohio, where they both attended Ohio University, for a little more than two weeks now, after filming the remainder of their footage for their student documentary about the Elm Street house in Springwood. It had been an extraordinarily stressful time upon their return, even judged by the standards of someone who spent as much time around Lisa as he did. And that was saying something.

For one thing, they hadn't gotten as much footage as they'd intended to. After that Lawson guy had found them filming on 1428's front lawn, he'd made sure the Springwood Police Department knew about it too. For some reason, Lawson just hadn't liked the idea of a couple of kids trying to make a film about his new house's dark, bloodcurdling history. Kyle just didn't get some people. And the Springwood P.D. had already had it in for he and Lisa, after the scene Lisa had made at their headquarters just a few days prior. So, filming at the house itself had become an impossibility.

Which had made editing that much more difficult. Lisa was (surprise, surprise) an extremely anal-retentive perfectionist. She had sat beside Kyle as he attempted to edit their footage together, groaning and screaming at him almost the entire time. This, of course, went beautifully in concert with her bitchy personality. Combine this with the fact that they had shit for footage (a few shots of Lisa standing in front of the house in Springwood, a few shots of her standing in front of the ruined campgrounds at Forest Green, or Crystal Lake, or whatever the hell the place was called, and other than that, a bunch of stills of blacked out newspapers, and old photos of 1428), their documentary had been sub par at best.

And, despite Professor Berger's warning, they hadn't gotten it turned in until well past the due date. Which, as promised, had resulted in Lisa's failure of the class. It took a special kind of student to fail out of a class less than halfway through the semester, but Lisa had managed it.

Kyle had faced no consequences. He hadn't actually been in Berger's class; he, along with two others, a boom mic operator and an actress hired to host the damn thing, had been brought on by Lisa from outside of her class. The boom mic guy and the actress had quit during the filming of the scenes at Forest Green after a particularly brutal verbal lashing from their oh-so-sweet director. Lisa, true to form, had promptly shoved Kyle into the van, gotten in herself, and drove off, leaving the other two stranded at the abandoned campground. Kyle had felt like an ass about it, but it wasn't really like it was his fault.

Come to think of it, he hadn't heard from Mitchell or Cindy since then. Hadn't seen them in class either. That was kind of odd.

His train of thought was suddenly interrupted, as Lisa looked up from her menu inside the diner and spotted him. Her face changed quickly to an expression of annoyance, though Kyle thought he'd seen a quick flash of relief there too. He sighed again deeply. With her seeing him, any possibility he had of just leaving without her noticing had vanished. If he tried to leave now he'd catch hell for it. Super-bitch hell. The worst kind.

Besides, she had sounded really desperate on the phone when she'd called him. And Kyle did feel a bit sorry for her. It wasn't totally her fault her documentary had turned out so bad. It mostly was. But not totally. And, he had felt slightly guilty about facing no consequences for the documentary's failure, while Lisa had been raked across the coals.

Kyle took a deep breath, before finally pushing open the door and entering the diner. Lisa glared at him as he walked over to her booth, taking a seat across from her.

"It's about fucking time." she growled. "What part of 'meet me at twelve thirty' didn't you understand? Did you get the big hand and the little hand mixed up again?"

Kyle grinned at her, leaning back in his seat. He couldn't help but be amused at how she'd practically begged him to meet her, then instantly reverted to her nasty, irritable self as soon as she thought she'd gotten what she wanted. "Naw, see, I was just paralyzed with joy at the prospect of seeing you again, Lis. I've missed this. I've missed _us_!"

Lisa rolled her eyes and sighed. "I don't even know why I called you."

Kyle shrugged. "Me neither." He started to get up. Lisa reached over the table and grabbed his arm.

"Sit." Though her expression remained stern, some of the venom had gone out of her voice. "Please."

Kyle did. Lisa leaned back, looking away from him. They sat in silence for for a brief moment, before Kyle broke it.

"So... how are things?"

"I'm going to lose my scholarship, Kyle." Lisa still wouldn't look at him.

Of all the things Kyle had expected at this particular meeting, this piece of news, this undeniable proof of vulnerability, was not even close to one of them. It took a moment for this to sink in. "You're-"

"Going to lose my scholarship." Lisa finally looked up at him. "Failing my film class has knocked my GPA way below what I was supposed to maintain. And I can't even come close to paying my tuition now. I've failed out of college, Kyle. I've fucking failed out of college"

"Well," Kyle said after a pause. "That sucks."

"Thanks for your support." Lisa shook her head distractedly.

Now it was Kyle's turn to roll his eyes. He was starting to lose patience. "Look, Lisa, I'm sorry you failed your class, and you lost your scholarship, and whatever. But it's really hard to sympathize with you when you act like the fucking bitch queen all the time, alright? Now, is there a reason you called me here, or were you actually expecting me to be a shoulder to cry on, 'cause I gotta tell ya-"

"We're going back." Lisa said.

Kyle blinked. "Excuse me? What was that?"

"Back to Springwood." Lisa's eyes had grown distant. She seemed to be looking through Kyle. It was a look he'd seen before. He hated it. "We have to finish the documentary."

Kyle shook his head. "You can't be serious. Lisa-"

"No!" Lisa slapped her hand down on the table. "Kyle, we have to finish it! This goddamn documentary has cost me everything. If I don't finish it..." she trailed off.

Kyle looked at her for a long moment before speaking. "Lisa... did it ever occur to you that the reason the documentary failed, the reason we ran into dead end after dead end, was because there was nothing to document? I mean, fuck! You found out about the house on an urban legends website! And all that BS you pulled out about those murders! Your mysterious 'source' that preferred to remain anonymous? The source that didn't fucking exist?"

Lisa slowly looked up at him. The fire had begun to return to her eyes. "You're questioning my sources?"

Kyle grinned sardonically. "Lis, give it a rest. Despite what you think, I'm not all looks and no brains. I know that the reason you couldn't tell even me who your source was, is because they didn't exist. I will give you credit, though, the stories you came up with for that house were hella clever. Like something out of a Wes Craven flick."

Lisa glared darkly now. It was a familiar expression to Kyle. "We _had_ documentation. All the newspaper clippings."

"You mean the two newspapers from 1981 and 1986?" Kyle asked. "The ones that had all the black outs all over them, that didn't even say anything definitive? We couldn't even _find _any papers from '89 til '99. The documentation in that town sucked something fierce."

"And that didn't strike you as odd?"

Kyle's eyes went wide. "You're right!" he said melodramatically. "It could've only been the result of a string of mysteriously covered up murders! It's the only possible explanation."

Lisa crossed her arms. "What about the coinciding murders at Crystal Lake?"

Kyle shrugged. "Coincidence. Everyone knows about how fucked up Crystal Lake is with all its murders. _That _place would have been a good focus for a documentary." he paused, remembering something. "Hey, Lis, did you ever hear back from Mitch and Cindy after you, ya know, abandoned them?"

Lisa ignored this question. "And the fact that the victims from the coinciding Crystal Lake murders were both from Springwood doesn't bother you at all?"

Kyle exhaled deeply. "Where's. Your. Proof?"

Lisa glared at Kyle for a long moment, before finally reaching over to a handbag lying next to her on her side of the booth. Kyle hadn't noticed this before. Lisa opened it, withdrawing a plain, manila folder. She tossed it on the table between them, all the while wordlessly glaring at Kyle.

Kyle glanced down at the folder, a puzzled expression on his face. "What's this?"

Lisa crossed her arms again. For the first time, the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "My proof."

Kyle looked at her quizzically for a long moment, before slowly opening the folder. It was full of a bunch of official looking papers, each signed and dated by someone... Carl Williams was the name on most of them. Kyle's eyes widened when he saw the "Springwood Police Department" heading on the first paper. "Lisa, are these-?"

"Police reports." She was smiling smugly now. "Uncensored police reports. All about the murders at and connected to 1428 Elm Street. With names and dates. _Those_ were my sources."

Kyle looked up at her. He was still shocked. "How... how did you get these?"

"Remember when I was kicked out of the police station?" Lisa asked. Kyle nodded. "Well, it was because they found me looking around in the evidence room. That's not where I found these though. If they had found me where I found those, I doubt they would have let me leave. Those were on Sheriff Williams' desk. Not sure why. Maybe they got 'em out when they found out Lawson was buying the place. It doesn't really matter. Those were my 'reluctant source.' The one I couldn't tell you about. You see why now?"

Kyle slowly nodded. He felt surprised and a little touched. "You... didn't want to get me indicted if you got caught!"

Lisa rolled her eyes again. "No, I didn't want to have to use illegally obtained evidence in my documentary. I doubted Berger would've looked too highly on that. Plus, I didn't wanna risk you blabbing."

Kyle was no longer touched. "Hey... I wouldn't have done that."

Lisa waved a hand. "Whatever. My point is, I'm not afraid to use those to their full extent anymore. I don't exactly have a lot to lose right now. But I figure if I can finish this documentary, and shed some light on this whole thing... it won't really matter that I was forced out of school."

Kyle shook his head. "I still don't understand why you think this is such a big deal. A few covered up murders, Lis? People are exposing those kinds of things all the time. I don't understand what makes this one so different that you've decided to make it your cause."

"I'll tell you why." Lisa's voice was growing thick with excitement. "There's a reason we can't find any documentation at all from 1989 'til 1999. It's because during that period, every single resident of Springwood under the age of eighteen – every single one – either died in their sleep, or committed suicide. Every. Single. One."

Kyle's eyes widened. "No way."

Lisa gestured to the folder. "It's all in there. You wanna know why I think the Elm Street house is so important? Because it's at the epicenter of what could very well be the biggest cover up in American history. And there's even more to it than that. A lot more."

Kyle leafed through the papers. They seemed to corroborate what Lisa was saying. "This is unbelievable, Lis."

Lisa nodded. "I've taken a chance showing you this stuff, Kyle. You get that?"

Kyle slowly looked up from the folder. "I'm starting to."

"Good. Now," Lisa leaned forward. "Are you going to help me?"

Kyle looked back at the folder, then back to Lisa. "I... I dunno, man. This is... this is huge stuff, don't get me wrong, but..." Kyle paused. Like Lisa, he had a near obsessive, inquisitive nature. But what he was holding in his hands could get both he and Lisa into trouble and a lot of it.

"That folder's going to be our protection," Lisa said, as if reading Kyle's thoughts. "If the Springwoood P.D. is going to move against us for having it, they're going to have to answer for it, too. I have a feeling the worst thing we're going to get from them is denial. And more attempts at cover up. They're too incompetent to be any real threat. They never even figured out I took those damn papers from their fucking sheriff's desk."

"Well..." Kyle bit his lip. What she was saying did make sense. And his curiosity was really starting to gnaw at him. But still.

Lisa's face slowly darkened into a glare. It was obvious Kyle's indecisiveness was quickly irritating her. Kyle inwardly groaned, steeling himself up for the verbal lashing he knew he was in for. Instead, Lisa did something completely unexpected. She reached across the table and grabbed his hand.

"Look... Kyle..." she spoke every word with great effort. Her face looked as though she'd just bitten into a lemon. Her grip wasn't gentle. "I...can't do this... without you, alright?"she sighed. "I can't operate my own camera... and I don't have the equipment I need to edit the footage. I... need... you."

Kyle's expression turned to one of shock, before slowly morphing to amusement. "Well, God damn. Did that hurt?"

Lisa sneered, dropping his hand like it was on fire. "I need help with this, okay? And you're..." she looked away from him. "You're pretty much the only person I can count on right now."

Kyle's grin slowly faded as he realized that Lisa had basically told him, in her own snippy, anger-filled way, that he was more or less her only friend. This wasn't something he'd ever seen her say... or even thought her capable of saying. He glanced back down at the folder one last time, before looking back up at her. "Ya know what? If this thing is as big as you say it is... then I'm in."

Now it was Lisa's turn to look shocked. "Really? You are?"

Kyle shrugged. "Yeah, what the hell. You've piqued my curiosity." he glanced back down at the folder before looking back up at her. "Besides, this could really be huge! I'm not gonna let you hog all the glory for this discovery."

Lisa smiled. Kyle was stunned. He was pretty sure it was the first genuine smile he'd ever seen from Lisa. "Well," she said. "I guess you are smarter than you look. At least, a little bit."

Kyle cocked an eyebrow. "Um. Thank you." He handed the folder back to Lisa. "So... where are we starting?"

"Well, there aren't a whole lot of threads to pick up on, unfortunately." Lisa opened the folder, leafing through the papers. "There aren't many survivors to talk to. But there are a few. In fact there's a girl from the last slew of murders left alive... let's see, aha!" She withdrew a single sheet of paper, with a photograph attached to it, and handed it to Kyle. "Here she is."

Kyle glanced at the photo, raising his eyebrows. "Hey, she's hot!" Lisa sighed and rolled her eyes. Kyle grinned at her. "Well, she _is_."

Lisa scowled. "Yeah. She's also insane."

"Huh?" Kyle glanced back to the paper. "Holy shit. You're right." he read further. "Whoa! She fucking killed her boyfriend?"

Lisa nodded. "Yup. And now she's incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital called Westin Hills. And that girl's going to be our focus. I doubt we'll be able to get to her personally, but from what that report says, her father still lives in Springwood. She also attended Springwood High, and a bunch of the teachers she had still teach there. She was an honor roll student, evidently, so it's a good bet they'll remember her. Those will be our starting points. We'll leave for Springwood tonight."

"This is good, Lisa," Kyle grinned. "This is really good."

Lisa smiled back. "Of course it is. And there's something else. A name that keeps coming up in all the reports, though it's really unclear as to why. I have a feeling we could get some real answers with it, though."

Kyle cocked an eyebrow. "What name's that?"

"K... K something, let me see." she opened the folder, scanning the first page. "Ah, here it is. Krueger. Fred Krueger."

* * *

Maggie Burroughs awoke with a start, jerking upright in her chair, and swallowing a scream. For a few moments she was gripped in the disorientation that follows immediately being thrust into wakefulness. It was mostly dark around her, though a bright, yet somehow sterile light seemed to be shining from behind her, over her shoulder, casting weird shapes along the wall in front of her. Her disorientation finally began to fade, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she realized she was in her small, cluttered office at Westin Hills. The strange shapes on the wall were simply the large book cases that completely dominated the wall on either side of the door, opposite the desk she was currently sitting at. And the sterile light was one of the floodlights from outside in the parking lot, shining through the small, barred window directly behind her.

Maggie blinked, glancing down at the jumble of papers lying on the open folder in front of her. She had been going over a few patients' files when she must've dozed off. For a few hours, it seemed, judging by the fact that it had gotten dark enough outside for the floodlights to come on. She stretched, wincing at the loud pop that came from her back as she did so. She wasn't as young as she used to be.

She'd been napping more and more at work lately due to the fact that her sleep at night was becoming more and more restless. She wasn't exactly sure why either, which made her uneasy. It could've been something as simple as insomnia (the fact that she thought of insomnia as something comparatively simple was something that might've amused her a few weeks ago, but not now), but Maggie didn't really believe that.

When you were the only daughter and last living relative of a notorious undead serial killer who haunted people's dreams, you took your sleeping problems very seriously. From outside, thunder rumbled. There was an electric tension in the air. It was obvious a storm was coming.

Granted, Maggie herself hadn't encountered her father in the ten years since their confrontation at the troubled youth clinic she used to work at. She'd actually believed he was gone for good for a while there. She'd kept a close eye on Springwood just in case, especially during the town's drive to revitalize itself, luring in new residents and big business with low priced prime real estate. But she hadn't genuinely expected her father to resurface. She'd seen him dragged into the real world and killed with her own eyes. She'd watched as the Dream Demons abandoned him in his defeat. He was gone for good as far as she knew.

Of course, she hadn't been aware at the time of her father's notoriety for returning, no matter how soundly he was defeated.

She had, however, noticed when a new crop of murders began springing up in the town in 2003. The Springwood P.D. did their best to keep it quiet, managing to keep anything from going national (which was a feat in and of itself considering the brutally ghoulish nature of the murders), but when you were keeping as close an eye on Springwood as Maggie was, in a town that was just a few hours away, you tended to pick up on certain things, no matter how swiftly the press was quieted. The murders had reeked of Krueger, even revolving around the same house: 1428 Elm, the house where she had grown up. The murders had abruptly stopped, shortly after they'd begun. But there had been a heavy cost for the two survivors...

It was during this time that Maggie had moved to Springwood, and through a few connections, managed to land a job working at Westin Hills. It hadn't been difficult. She had good credentials from the Clinic, and had managed to get her doctorate in psychiatry back in spring of 2002. She felt that if Krueger was going to resurface, she should be there. She'd stopped him before, and she would do it again, if necessary.

It was when she'd gotten the job at Westin Hills that she was introduced to what was known as the Elm Street Policy. The Policy, developed by Dr. Roy Campbell, the head psychiatrist at Westin Hills, was simple enough: Krueger was a plague. One that seemed to work in cycles in Springwood. And he would be treated as a plague. Those children who knew of Krueger were quarantined. A vaccine was developed: a drug that suppressed dreams (a drug called Hypnocil, that Maggie didn't entirely trust) was given to these kids to protect them from Krueger, until they could be convinced that he didn't exist. And Krueger himself was never mentioned by name, under any circumstances. The policy had a certain Draconian ruthlessness that Maggie didn't like... but it seemed to be working.

It wasn't a flawless plan. Clearly someone had slipped up at some point. Maggie refused to believe that the murders that had drawn her back to the town weren't somehow connected to Krueger.

And there were the kids who hadn't stopped dreaming. Whose dosages of Hypnocil had been upped and upped until they'd been put into a coma...

"Dr. Burroughs?"

Maggie started violently in her chair. Standing in the doorway, looking just as shocked as she felt at her reaction, was one of the night orderlies.

Maggie put a hand to her chest. "Jonathan, you scared the hell out of me."

Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck, self-consciously. He was a good looking young man, in his early twenties. He was thin, with short-cropped brown hair. He pushed his black rimmed, Buddy Holly glasses back up on his nose. "Sorry, Doc. It's just, uh... Dr. Campbell wants to see you. He needs your help with... you know..."

Maggie paused a moment, before it sank in. "Is it bad tonight?"

Jonathan nodded. "Oh yeah. Real bad."

Maggie nodded back and got to her feet. "Lead the way then."

A loud clap of thunder shook the building as Maggie and Jonathan walked down the hallway of Westin Hills' maximum security wing. Other than the thunder, the hallway was silent. The patience rooms on this wing were all sound proofed, due to their padded walls, and foot thick, iron security doors. On top of that, most of the patients on this wing were sedated at night. They wouldn't sleep otherwise. Standing outside the room at the end of the hall, leaning against the door, rubbing his temples, was Dr. Campbell. His face looked drawn and haggard, and his gray hair was a mess. His eyes were distant, bloodshot, and deeply sunken. It appeared that his sleeping problems were even worse than Maggie's. But who could blame him, when...

A shriek rose from behind the door Dr. Campbell was leaning against. It was very faint, but even through the thick metal, it could still be heard. Campbell looked up slowly when he heard it, starting slightly when he saw Maggie and Jonathan standing there. He hadn't noticed them arrive. Thunder clapped again, not as loud as before, but no less ominous.

"Maggie," Dr. Campbell said breathlessly. "Thank you for coming. I was worried you'd gone home."

Maggie shook her head. "No, I've just been going over a few files." She left out the fact that she'd fallen asleep. Or the fact that she was pretty sure she'd had a nightmare. She knew Campbell didn't approve of her refusal to take Hypnocil, and she wasn't going to give him any more reason to rag on her about it. "So, what's going on? Why is she so upset."

Campbell paused, shuddering as another shriek rose up from behind the door. "I... I'm not sure. It happened just after sunset. She was fine... lucid, at least... but then suddenly, she just started screaming. She refused to take any of her medication, and none of the orderlies could get near her."

Maggie exchanged a glance with Jonathan at that. There wasn't a whole lot the patients at Westin Hills could do to keep the orderlies away from them if they had to be restrained. It got pretty rough sometimes. But it had to be done for the most part. Maggie and Jonathan both knew that if the orderlies couldn't get near Dr. Campbell's special case, it was because _he_ wouldn't let them near her.

But again, who could blame him, in this case...

"There's another thing," Dr. Campbell said softly. "I... I don't think she's been taking her Hypnocil."

Maggie started at that. "What? Dr. Campbell, _you're_ supposed to be making sure she takes it!"

Campbell didn't reply. Part of Maggie wanted to sympathize with him. He didn't want to risk this patient overdosing on the drug for obvious reasons... even if it might be more hazardous to her health _not _to be taking it.

But at the same time, part of her wanted to wring his neck. He'd never had a problem putting all of the kids in D Wing into comas ramming the stupid drug down their throats.

Maggie sighed deeply. She'd been meaning to talk to Campbell about his particularly unique situation with this patient, and now seemed like as good a time as any. "Dr. Campbell... I've been thinking about this for a long time and I really believe that it might be best from now on if you left the care of this patient in... other hands."

Campbell's head snapped toward her. For the first time since they'd arrived in the maximum security wing, he looked fully lucid. "No! She's my responsibility, I'll take care of her!"

"Dr. Campbell..."

"NO!" Campbell shouted suddenly. At the sound of his shouting, the shriek rose again from within the room. Campbell looked toward the door before looking back at Maggie. When he spoke, it was in a calmer tone. A pleading tone. "Dr. Burroughs... Maggie... she's all I have left."

"I know that." Maggie said softly. "But you've got to think about what's best for her. I just think that as far as treating her goes, you should leave her to someone else."

Dr. Campbell's eyes narrowed. "To you, you mean."

Maggie groaned. Her patience was beginning to wear thin "Roy, I'm not suggesting you shouldn't be allowed to see her at all, alright? But you're being unreasonable." She met his gaze. "I just think, that given the position you're in, you're a little too close to her to properly treat her, medically speaking. It's not good for either of you."

Campbell's jaw visibly clenched at this, but he didn't reply. After a moment, he slowly nodded. "Alright. Alright, I'll think about it. It's you she wants to talk to tonight anyway."

Maggie raised her eyebrows again. "Me?"

Campbell nodded, turning toward the door, and sliding a card through the locking mechanism. A red light at the top of the door, above its reinforced window, clicked from red to green. "Yes. You. She asked for you by name."

Jonathan put a hand on Maggie's shoulder. "You want me to go in there with you?"

Maggie thought about it, then shook her head. "No. That'll most likely just upset her. It's probably best I go in there by myself. She likes me, I don't think she'd try to hurt me."

Jonathan nodded. "Alright. Just tap on the window if you need anything."

Maggie smiled. "Will do." She nodded to Campbell, who nodded back before pulling the door open. Maggie entered the room, and Campbell slowly closed the door behind her.

It was dark inside the room, and oppressively silent, thanks to the padded walls. It took a moment before Maggie's eyes adjusted. The room was almost completely bare. There was a toilet in the corner of the room, and a bed with restraints on it on the wall opposite the door. Huddled on the bed was a girl. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her face buried against them. Her arms were wrapped around her shins. Maggie slowly moved to sit on the bed next to her.

"Hello, Lori." she said.

Slowly, Lori Campbell raised her head. Her long, blonde hair was messy, and unkempt. It hung limp in front of her eyes. Her cheeks was streaked with tears. A weak smile formed on her face when she saw Maggie.

"Hello, Dr. Burroughs." she said. Her voice was weak and raspy from screaming. "How are you?"

Lori's tale was truly a tragic one. She had been the primary target during the last Krueger go around, due to the fact that she and her father had been residents of 1428 Elm at the time. Lori had watched as all of her friends were picked off one by one until only she and her boyfriend Will were left. The two of them had managed to defeat Krueger by pulling him into the real world and killing him at Camp Crystal Lake, though God only knew what they were doing there.

That hadn't been the end of it, though. According to her file, roughly two months after they defeated Krueger, Lori and her boyfriend Will were having sex (for the first time)... when Lori strangled Will to death.

She claimed Krueger had taken possession of him.

Needless to say, she'd been incarcerated at Westin Hills ever since.

"I'm alright, Lori." Maggie said gently. "And I've told you before, you can call me Maggie. Now, the real question is, how are _you_? Your father tells me you're upset."

Lori chuckled slightly, wiping the remaining tears from her face, with the long sleeves of her white patient's uniform. "That, Maggie, is what's commonly known as an understatement."

"Why were you so upset?"

Lori shrugged. "He wasn't going to let me talk to you."

Maggie rolled her eyes. Dr. Campbell's judgment was definitely becoming compromised by his proximity to this case. He wouldn't let Lori talk to her until she started screaming her lungs out? Psychiatrists shouldn't be allowed to treat their own children. She pressed on. "He also tells me you haven't been taking your Hypnocil."

Lori grinned again. "Nope. Sure haven't. Those things'll make ya crazy, doc."

The patients at Westin Hills were typically encouraged to maintain high spirits and a good sense of humor, but Lori's, on the rare occasion when she displayed it, tended to be on the macabre and unsettling side.

Lori's face fell. "Besides, I've seen what that shit does to you. And it keeps you from dreaming. I read somewhere once that if you can't dream, you lose your mind. Is that true?"

Lori surprised Maggie a great deal of the time. She hardly came across as insane. Desperate and frantic. But who wouldn't be, given what she'd been through. "The study of dreams isn't an exact science, Lori. Even with all the advancements we've made, we still don't understand them. There's just something undeniably primal about them. Something that refuses to be unlocked."

Lori nodded. "That makes sense. It's what makes..._him_...so effective."

Maggie paused, watching Lori for a long moment, before finally speaking. "Who are you talking about, Lori?"

Lori looked back up at her, a humorless smile tugging at her lips. "Who do you _think_ I'm talking about, Maggie?"

Maggie nodded, looking Lori straight in the eye, and placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Lori? Have you been seeing him lately? Since you stopped taking your Hypnocil?"

Lori's lower lip trembled. A tear ran down her cheek. She sniffed and wiped it away. "I... I don't know. I've... I've been seeing something. Hearing something. Something bad. In my dreams. At least, I think I have..." she buried her face in her hands. "It's so vague! I don't know what it is, but I know it scares me."

"Have you told your father?"

Lori shook her head. "No. His answer for everything is Hypnocil. He won't _make_ me take it anymore, but he wants me to. I don't want to though. Because they're not all bad, Maggie. I've had good dreams lately, too! But... they're as vague as the others. Just... flashes and images... but I feel safer after having them!" another tear ran down her cheeks. "Do you think it's brain damage or something? From the Hypnocil? Is that why I can't dream anymore?"

"I don't know." Maggie said. But she didn't think that was the case. It felt like there was something more going on here. Call it intuition. "These things you've been seeing and hearing... can you remember anything from them? Anything at all."

Lori looked up at her, and nodded slowly. "Yes. A little. That's actually why I wanted to talk to you tonight. Dad doesn't like me talking to you. He thinks you're trying to steal me or something, I think. But one of the things I remember for my dreams. I think it was a message...for you..."

Maggie arched an eyebrow. "For me?"

Lori nodded. "Yeah... although..." She looked at the ground.

"What?" asked Maggie. "What is it?"

"The message was all weird. It didn't use your name. It used _a_ name, but not yours. I'm not sure how I know it was supposed to be for you, but I do. And... it was talking about someone's father." Lori's brow furrowed as she tried to remember. "Daddy. That was the term it used."

Maggie felt her heart skip a beat. A long moment went by before she gathered up the courage to speak again. "Lori, what was the message?"

Lori looked up at her again. "It said 'Tell Katherine daddy will be seeing her soon.'"

Another clap of thunder shook the building. Outside, the sky opened up, and rain began to fall in sheets. The storm had begun.


	5. Springwood High

**Author's note: **And once again, after another awful year and a half absence after which I deserve to have no readers still following me, I have returned. I'll spare you the usual overly long and self-indulgent author's note. I apologize (particularly to YOU, Darkness Takes Over, my constant reader) for the absence and promise that no matter how long it takes, this story will never be abandoned.

"**Springwood High"**

_It is hard to convince a high-school student that he will encounter a lot of problems more difficult than t__hose of algebra and geometry. _

_-__Edgar W. Howe_

_Monday morning..._

The clock on the classroom wall read 7:55 a.m. Exactly five minutes before Ancient History was to start. Rory sat at her desk, her chin propped up by her hand, her eyelids doing their best to force themselves closed.

It had been a sleepless weekend, for the most part. Rory had gotten a few hours of sleep here and there, but she mostly wouldn't allow herself more than three or four hours at a time. She refused to allow herself to sleep long enough to fall into the deepest stages... where the most vivid dreams occurred. She knew this probably wasn't good for her. Okay, she knew it _definitely _wasn't good for her. But she figured it would be the best course of action until a better one presented itself. She was basically the last line keeping this Freddy Krueger maniac from regaining his powers. All she had to do was keep herself from being afraid of him.

Rory wasn't sure she trusted herself enough _not _to be afraid of him. Which was why she'd decided to simply avoid the issue altogether.

A powerful yawn interrupted Rory's train of thought. She stretched in her chair, and glanced around the classroom, trying to move around as much as possible in an effort to shake off her fatigue.

Even now, five minutes before class, the room was very sparsely populated. Ancient History was an elective. It wasn't required for graduation (though it did take the place of a normal history credit.) It was also a brand new class, having just been introduced to the curriculum. As a result, very few students even knew about the class. There were only about seven students in the class total. Rory, three of her friends, and three weirdo druggies who Rory was pretty sure used the class as early morning nap time. And at the moment, they weren't even here yet.

To Rory's left Chas Hill sat, running a brush through her hair. She was an extremely pretty, brunette girl, a bit taller than Rory, and a bit more shapely. She wore a pair of sharp looking khaki slacks, and a dark, purple top. Ear rings, about five apiece, adorned her ears, and a tiny silver stud glinted on the side of her nose. She stifled a yawn as well.

"Jesus, Rory." she said, replacing her brush in her purse. "That's like, the twentieth time you've yawned this morning. It's starting to spread."

Rory smiled apologetically, shaking her head, and blinking to refocus. "Sorry, Chas. I had kind of a rough weekend. Didn't get a whole lot of sleep."

Chas raised an eyebrow. "Weekend? Rory, I don't think I've seen you fully awake in almost two weeks now."

To Rory's right Justin Straub sat smirking. He was tall, thin, and good looking, in a lanky, goofy sort of way. His black hair was spiked to perfection, and he wore a grey t-shirt and faded blue jeans. "Been laying awake at nights thinking about me again, Rory? I understand."

Chas scoffed. "Get over yourself, Justin."

Justin's grin broadened. He leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. "Oh, don't be jealous, Chastity. You know I only have eyes for you."

Chas's eyes narrowed to slits. "Do _not_ call me that!"

"What? It's your name!"

Chas crossed her arms. "I prefer Chas. Chastity makes me sound like-"

"A porn star?" Justin rubbed his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "Actually, if you pair it with your last name, it sounds like the kind of place people go on the weekends to fuck: Chastity Hill!"

Behind Justin, Luke Morley sighed deeply before leaning forward and smacking his friend on the back of the head. Luke wasn't as tall as Justin, nor was he as lanky, but he was, in Rory's opinion, much better looking. His light, sandy brown hair was longish, but not _too _long, hanging down just enough that he spent quite a bit of time brushing it out of his hazel eyes. He wore a red flannel shirt over a black t-shirt, dark blue jeans, and a pair of black, hiking boots on his feet. Luke and Justin had been best friends since kindergarten, with Luke consistently being the more mature, reasonable foil to Justin's particular brand of lunacy. He was always there to sort of step in when Justin was behaving just a little too stupidly. "Justin, are you _completely_ incapable of behaving like a civil human being?"

Justin turned in his seat, shooting Luke a glare. "First of all, yes. It's a medical condition, and I'll thank you for not drawing further attention to it. Secondly, she likes it." he jabbed a thumb at Chas, who merely snorted in response, before shaking her head and turning away.

In spite of how tired she was, Rory managed a grin. Justin's feelings for Chas were painfully obvious to probably everyone but Chas herself. Justin was just one of those rare gems who never outgrew the middle school method of flirtation. There were actually quite a few preteen personality traits that Justin had yet to outgrow, but that was neither here nor there.

Rory even suspected that Chas may have felt something for Justin as well, but she'd probably never admit to it. While she was far from being snobby or stuck up, Chas was indeed a very attractive girl, who was very well aware of how attractive she was. She'd dated some of the better looking, more popular students in their class, and even dated a few upperclassmen before. Justin may have still had a shot, even in the face of this, but his immaturity was the deal breaker. Chas did not appreciate mockery, even if it was all in fun.

"I think Chastity is a pretty name," Rory said sincerely.

Chas shrugged. "I think Lorelei is a pretty name. I'll trade you."

"I think Luke is a boring name," Luke chimed in. "I'll trade either one of you."

Rory laughed at this, not noticing the sidelong glance Chas shot her as she did so. Justin, meanwhile, suddenly looked horrified.

"What the hell are you talking about? Luke a boring name? Dude! Luke _Skywalker_? Hello!"

The door to the classroom suddenly creaked open, and the four of them stopped and turned to see who would enter. It was one of the three druggies, the skinny girl with the purple hair, baggy clothes, and the arm warmers. Kelly, or Kerry or something with a K, Rory couldn't remember. She stepped into the room and, completely oblivious to the other students' stares, swiftly moved to a desk in the back of the room, slumping down into the seat and staring off into space.

"Huh. Skeletina's all by herself," Justin muttered. "I wonder where Smokey the Pothead and Slutty McGee are at."

Luke gave him another slap on the back of the head. "Will you stop?"

"Stop what? Look at her, she's in lala land, she's not even listening to me."

"Yeah, but your voice carries." Chas glanced over at Justin raising an eyebrow. "Much like a tornado siren."

Rory barely heard the three of them, as she watched the purple haired girl. There was something on her face that worried Rory. She wasn't just spacing or vegging. She looked shocked. Like she'd seen a ghost. Or something worse. For some completely inexplicable reason, Rory felt like she knew why the girl looked like that.

Just then the door to the classroom opened a second time, and Mr. Bachman, the class instructor, walked in. Mr. Bachman was in his fifties, with a grey, receding hairline that he typically kept neatly combed back. He usually dressed semi-casually, and today was no different, as he wore a pair of jeans with a white button up shirt, and a brown sports coat. He carried a clipboard with, presumably, the class roster on it in one hand, and a briefcase in the other. His eyes were currently locked on the clipboard as he walked toward the desk at the front of the room, and Rory couldn't help but notice that he too looked somewhat troubled, though not as desperately vacant as the purple haired girl had.

"Good morning, class," Mr. Bachman set his briefcase on the desk, and looked up from the clipboard for the first time. "I apologize for being late this morning, but there was an emergency staff meeting. I'm not exactly sure how to say this, but it seems that..." he trailed off as he noticed the purple haired girl seated alone at the back of the room. "Oh... Miss Murphy! I hadn't expected to see you this morning."

Murphy! That was the girls name! Kara Murphy. Rory remembered now. She knew it was a K name.

Kara, meanwhile, slowly looked up at Mr. Bachman. Her expression didn't change. "Well, here I am," she said flatly. "Surprise."

"Ah, yes." Mr. Bachman cleared his throat. "Well, under the circumstances, I hope you don't feel as though you should force yourself to be here."

Kara shrugged. "Didn't force myself. Parents don't trust me at home by myself and they both work. Didn't really have much of a choice in the matter, Mr. B."

Rory's hunch that Kara had witnessed something awful suddenly transformed into a certainty.

Justin leaned over toward Rory. "I think that's the most she's said in this class the whole semester," he whispered.

"Justin, hush!" Chas hissed. She seemed to sense that something was wrong as well. Luke simply watched Kara silently.

"Well, if you need to leave the classroom at any time for any reason, consider yourself excused, alright?" said Mr. Bachman. Kara nodded slowly, and went back to staring vacantly. Just then, it seemed to dawn on Mr. Bachman that the other four were in the room. "Ah! Good! Well then, I suppose we should begin. I'll assume that none of you did the reading on chapter 3, the intro to the ancient Greek gods?"

"You assume correctly, my good sir!" Justin boisterously proclaimed.

Luke sighed. "I read it, Mr. B."

Chas nodded. "Yeah, me too... most of it, anyway."

Rory yawned. "Read, yes... retained, probably not so much."

Justin huffed. "Traitors..."

Mr. Bachman's mouth turned up at the corner in a small half smirk. One of the benefits to being in such a small class was that the student/teacher relationship tended to develop much more personally. Since the class only had seven students, and only four of those students participated regularly, Ancient History tended to be more like a small discussion group than a class. As a result, the rapport between the four of them and Mr. Bachman tended to be much more interesting, informative, and frankly, fun, than any of their other classes.

"Thank you for once again revealing your rank in this class, Mr. Straub." Mr. Bachman opened his briefcase and withdrew his notebook from within. "I feel I should warn you that the test over the first four chapters will be on Friday of this week. So you may want to catch up by then."

"Pfffft." Justin waved a hand dismissively. "Have I ever given you reason to doubt me before?"

Mr. Bachman arched an eyebrow. "A bold question, Mr. Straub."

As the two continued to banter, Rory shot another glance at Kara. Her head was buried in her arms on her desk now. Rory noticed that Luke was watching her too.

"In any case!" Mr. Bachman suddenly spoke up louder now, the signifier that pre-class banter was over, and it was time to engage in serious discussion. "Had you read the chapter, you would have seen that the Greek gods were more or less the ancient Greek's attempt to explain the unexplainable going on around them. The Greeks had a god to explain nearly everything. For example, the sun. To the Greeks, the earth was flat, the sky was a dome, and the sun was the ancient Titan, Helios, driving the golden chariot of the God, Apollo, pulled by four burning stallions, from one horizon to the other!"

"So, the Greeks were stupid?" Justin asked.

Luke sighed. "So, are _you_ stupid?"

Mr. Bachman grinned, and leaned against the front of his desk. "Now, now, Mr. Straub. The Greeks weren't stupid. They simply dwelt in another time. A time before telescopes and satellites, and space programs. They had to explain things away the best they could. After all, the quest for reason is what has made us the dominant species on this planet. It doesn't always matter whether or not an explanation is correct. Just that it _is_ an explanation is sometimes good enough. And it's not like we have all the answers to everything, even in our day and age. There are still things science isn't entirely capable of explaining."

"Like what?" asked Chas.

Mr. Bachman shrugged. "Certain animal behaviors. Migration patterns. And even much more common things. Like dreams! For all the scientific advances we've made, there still isn't a one hundred percent, concreted explanation for what dreams are, or what causes them. The Greeks had their theories though. For instance, they believed dreams were woven by two different gods, and placed in men's minds while they slept. The god of good dreams, Morpheus, and the god of nightmares, Phobetor."

Phobetor. Rory thought about asking if Phobetor maybe had a little brother named Freddy Krueger. She propped her head up on her desk with her hand, and blinked heavily, stifling another yawn. The pre-class chatter had helped, but now that Mr. Bachman had begun his lecture, she could feel the fatigue creeping up on her again. Slowly, her eyelids slipped shut. It couldn't hurt to rest her eyes for just a moment. It was a small class, if she actually fell asleep, Mr. Bachman would notice, and wake her up. Besides, class was only fifty minutes long. How deeply asleep could she fall in that short a time?

* * *

The van's brakes squealed slightly as it pulled into the parking space. Inside, Lisa put the vehicle in park, before cutting the engine and turning to Kyle.

"Alright. Now, for the love of God, when we get inside, let me do all the talking. All of it. No stupid remarks or retarded one-liners. Just be quiet. We're only going to get one shot at this, alright?"

Kyle barely heard her. His attention was focused on the building across the neatly kept lawn straight ahead of them. Springwood High. It was fairly modest for a public high school. It stood two stories tall, made of brick. The cloud cover, combined with the early morning hour made its dull red color even darker. Frankly, it looked the color of dried blood. Considering what had happened in this town, particularly to it's younger population, Kyle found that uncomfortably appropriate. He swallowed hard.

Lisa raised an eyebrow, noticing Kyle's unease. "Problem?"

There _was_ a problem. Something about this town had started to give Kyle the major creeps, especially since they'd come back. But he wasn't about to tell Lisa that. It was probably just what he'd read in that police file Lisa had shown him, anyhow. "No problem. Just not relishing this. Once I left I just swore I'd never come back."

Now Lisa's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? You've never been here."

Kyle shrugged. "Doesn't matter. They're all the same."

Lisa sighed. "_What_ are all the same?"

Kyle stared straight at the building. "High school, my old nemesis. We meet again."

Lisa groaned, running her hands through her hair in exasperation. "This is exactly the kind of shit I'm talking about. This isn't improv night at the Apollo, alright Kyle?" she reached into her coat, pulling out a small voice recorder. "The minute this thing turns on, your mouth gets turned off. Alright?"

Kyle sighed, turning to Lisa and doing his best to imitate _her_ exasperated expression. "My talents are wasted on you."

Lisa gritted her teeth. "Perhaps you'd care to wait out in the van?"

"Nuh uh!" Kyle grinned. "That would ruin the plan! You neeeeed me!"

"Puh-lease. I snuck a police report out of the police station. I'm sure I could get Lori Campbell's records out of here all on my own." Lisa crossed her arms. "In fact, I'm beginning to have second thoughts about letting you snoop around for the records at all. You'll probably just get caught."

Kyle gasped over-dramatically. "My dear, there isn't a man alive who is better at sneaking out of school than I am. But, if _you'd_ rather find the records, I'd be _more_ than happy to interview this Principal Shea fellow. What was that name you wanted to throw around with emphasis? Frank Keegler?"

Lisa's eyes widened. "No. Hell no. I'd throw myself into a ravine before I let _you_ do an interview for _any_ film that comes even _kind of_ close to having my name on it. "

Kyle shrugged. "Well, it's one or the other. I refuse to be left out here. If you try I'll just lean on the horn until I get the attention of everyone in the school. Then I'll streak naked across the lawn yelling 'Lisa Clifton brought me to this!'"

Lisa shook her head. "The sad part is, I'm sure you'd actually do that."

Kyle's grin broadened. "Awww... you know me so well!"

Lisa sighed again, and opened her door. "Let's just get this over with. And the name was Fred Krueger, by the way. Try to remember it. It's the key to this whole thing."

She climbed out of the van, shutting the door behind her. Kyle quickly got out as well, closing his door, and trotting quickly to catch up to Lisa. The fall leaves rustled as the wind blue briskly through the branches of the nearby trees. Kyle tugged his hat down on his head, and zipped up his jacket. It was getting colder. There'd been a pretty badass storm here the night before, and it seemed like another was getting ready to move in.

"You really believe that, don't you?" Kyle asked as they walked toward the school's entrance. "About that Krueger guy."

Lisa nodded. "I do. His name was all over those police reports. He was listed as a suspect in every case at 1428 Elm. Sometimes the _only_ suspect. But it never went any further than that. The name was all that was ever mentioned."

Kyle scoffed. "Yeah, but I mean get real. One guy? One guy caused all those deaths in that house over a span of twenty years? Even though, according to those police reports, everyone knew he was behind it? How is that even possible? And what does that have to do with all those kids who died in their sleep or committed suicide in the 90's?"

Lisa rolled her eyes. "If I knew the answers to those questions, I wouldn't be here, now would I?"

Kyle shrugged as they climbed the stone steps leading to the school's entrance. "I just don't see how one guy could do all that damage and not get caught."

* * *

"Rory? Rory, wake up!"

Rory's eyes shot open. Her head was down on her desk. She could see the red and green tiles on the floor beyond it. She quickly sat up and glanced around.

Mr. Bachman was gone. So were Chas, Luke, and Justin. How long had she been asleep? Rory quickly glanced to the corner of the room... and paused when she saw Kara staring back at her from her seat in the corner.

"Kara? Where is everyone?"

Kara looked as confused as Rory felt. "I... I dunno. I fell asleep at my desk, and when I woke up everyone was gone. Everyone except you. That's why I woke you up."

Something clearly wasn't right here. Rory glanced around the room again. Something was off. Something was definitely off. For some reason, she found her attention drawn back to the floor. She'd never noticed the red and green tile pattern before. Why was it making her so uneasy?

"What the fuck? Rory, look at the clock!"

Rory glanced up again at the clock mounted on the wall at the front of the class room, just above the chalk board. The clock's face was completely blank, except for a manic, jagged scrawling at the top that read "Time to die!" where the twelve should have been. There was only one hand on the clock, and it was pointed just to the left of the text. Rory's eyes slowly widened.

She was still asleep. So was Kara. Somehow they'd both been drawn into the same dream. And they were both in serious trouble.

Rory leapt to her feet. "Jesus! Kara, we have to wake up!"

Kara raised an eyebrow. "We _are_ awake."

Rory dashed over to the other girl, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her to her feet. "No, we're not. We're asleep, and if we don't find a way to wake up, we're fucked!"

Kara's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you..." she trailed off as something she saw over Rory's shoulder caught her gaze. Instantly, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Oh... oh my God!"

Rory glanced over her shoulder, and felt a lump rise in her throat as she saw what Kara saw. Scrawled across the chalkboard, in what could only be blood, was the phrase "One, two, Freddy's coming for you!"

Rory nodded. "Yeah. We've gotta go. Now!"

Kara began shaking violently. "No, no, you don't understand! That's-"

"No!" Rory grabbed her by the shoulders. "I don't think _you _understand! I've _met_ Freddy, alright? And we don't want to be here when he shows up!"

"He killed them!" The glazed look that Rory had seen on Kara's face when she'd first entered the classroom that morning had returned. "He killed them!"

Rory had no idea what Kara was talking about, but she didn't care. "He's going to kill _us_ if we don't get out of here!" She grabbed Kara by the hand, and not knowing what else to do, dragged her toward the classroom door.

They only made it about five steps before Rory realized that something was very _wrong_ with the door.

The plain wooden classroom door had been replaced by a familiar, rotting, red door with peeling paint. The numbers "1428" hung in a vertical row next to the door. Kara noticed this and shrieked.

"Okay," Rory breathed, backing away from the door. "Okay, we can't go that way..."

There was a sudden loud click. Rory's eyes widened, and she quickly looked back to the clock above the chalk board. The single hand had suddenly shifted to high noon, pointing straight at "Time to die!" Long rows of razor spikes slowly began rising from the floor and descending from the ceiling.

"Shit!" Rory knew exactly what was happening. "Shit, shit, shit!"

With a heavy grinding sound, the spiked ceiling slowly began to lower. And from every direction came a booming, gravelly, and altogether too familiar voice.

"Attention students!" cackled Freddy Krueger. "Class is dismissed! Leave the class room now... or don't ever leave it again! HAW HAHAHAHAHAAAW!"

It was a trap and Rory knew it. Krueger was trying to force them through the door. And what was on the other side was far worse than the spiked ceiling closing in on them.

It was the house. The house her father had bought. 1428 Elm Street. _His_ house. Krueger's. And it was the only place he had any power left. He'd said so himself.

But these spikes. Rory knew that if she could keep herself from being afraid, the spikes might not even hurt her... at least according to what Nancy had told her. But could she rely on that? She didn't know Nancy any more than she knew Freddy.

Rory glanced over at Kara. The purple haired girl was shaking violently, her eyes bulging, her breath coming in quick shallow gasps. And Rory's mind was suddenly made up. Even if she could keep herself from becoming afraid, Kara was terrified. Going through the door might kill them both. Staying here would _definitely_ kill Kara.

Rory gritted her teeth, tightened her grip on Kara's hand, and pulled her through the red door.

The sweltering heat hit Rory like a punch to the gut and she stumbled forward, gasping for air and momentarily losing her grip on Kara's hand. Wherever they were, it wasn't 1428 Elm. They seemed to be in some kind of narrow hallway or passage. Huge, archaic looking machinery, surrounded them on either side. The floor was made of some kind of grimy, black, metal mesh. Glancing up, Rory saw an insanely complex network of pipes leading higher and higher into the darkness as far as she could see. Up ahead, the narrow passageway seemed to open up, a faint red glow illuminating whatever laid beyond.

_His name is Fred and he keeps taking me to the boiler room..._

The words from Nancy's diary came flooding back and suddenly Rory was certain she knew where they were. And it was just as bad, if not worse, than 1428...

"Kara, I think we may have-" Rory turned toward where she thought the other girl had been standing. Kara was gone... as was the door leading back to the classroom. In its place was a flat, rusted metal wall... with the words "You're fucked!" sloppily painted on in big, red letters.

Rory slowly backed away from the wall, before turning back toward the opening at the end of the passageway. It seemed as though she had little choice. "Jesus…"

"Nope!" Krueger's voice suddenly seemed to come from everywhere at once, echoing off the machinery. "He ain't here right now, bitch. It's just you and me!"

"Where's Kara?" Rory yelled back, surprising herself with the stern conviction her voice carried. "What have you done with her?"

"Why don't you come out here and find out, blondie?" Krueger laughed darkly.

Rory hesitated. This was obviously a trap. Kara might very well already be dead. So what, exactly, was the point of all this? Krueger wouldn't hurt _her_, he needed her... didn't he? Wasn't she supposed to be "spreading his gospel" so to speak? Except Kara seemed to know who he was.

Unless of course Kara wasn't actually here. Maybe this was all just some sick game to freak her out so Krueger could feed off her fear, like Nancy said.

"Rory!" Kara's shriek cut through Rory's thoughts like a knife. "Oh God... Oh God, Rory, help me!"

The primal fear in Kara's voice made up Rory's mind. There was a chance it wasn't really Kara. But there was also the chance that it _was_. And trap or not, Rory couldn't just leave her here. In a way, she felt responsible for all of this. It was her dad who had bought that horrible house. It was Rory herself who first dreamed of Krueger and read Nancy's diary. For all she knew, she was the one that had unleashed him. But she was also the one who knew how to beat him.

She began sprinting toward the opening at the end of the passageway. "Kara, don't be afraid of him! He can't hurt you as long as you're not afraid!"

Krueger cackled in response. "Yeah, that's right, Kara! Don't be scared! It's all just a bad dream!"

The whole floor suddenly began shaking and Rory nearly lost her footing. A massive whiring and clanking that drowned out the noise all of the other surrounding machinery began. Whatever had just happened, it caused Kara to begin screaming even louder. Rory righted herself, and with renewed determination, sprinted the last few feet before finally reaching the opening.

What she saw brought her screeching to a halt.

The passageway let out into a massive, dome shaped, cavernous chamber. The walls and the ceiling of the chamber actually seemed to be made of rock, with bizarre, sharp and twisting stalactites hanging from the ceiling. At the center of the room was a massive, sloping pit. A metal catwalk that connected to the floor Rory was standing on lined the pit's edge. The churning, mechanical sound that shook the room seemed to be emanating from that pit, though from where she stood, Rory couldn't see exactly what it was.

And hanging by her wrists high above the pit, from chains dangling from two of the long, twisting stalactites, was Kara.

Rory quickly stepped out onto the catwalk surrounding the pit, her eyes locked on the other girl. "Kara! Don't worry, I'll get you down from there."

Kara didn't seem to hear her. Her eyes were locked on the pit. Slowly Rory followed her gaze... and drew back in horror.

The churning machinery that seemed stuffed into the bottom of the pit was maddening to look at. Grinding rusted gears, spinning saw blades, pounding hydraulic crushers, all woven together in an impossible, but somehow flawless way. It was clear that anyone who might fall into that pit would fall to a gruesome and decidedly painful death. Machinery like that should be tearing itself apart, but instead it almost seemed to flow together, pulsating as if it was alive. It was impossible.

It was something that could only happen in a nightmare.

"Rory!" Kara's cries suddenly snapped Rory back to alertness and she tore her eyes away from the machine. She had to figure out how to get Kara down from there! As Rory stepped toward the edge of the catwalk, she noticed Kara's eyes suddenly lock on something behind her. "Behind you!"

Rory's eyes went wide. Of course it was a trap. Too late, she spun on her heel… and came face to face with Freddy Krueger. Krueger sneered, his left, non-clawed hand shooting out and locking around Rory's throat. Gasping, Rory was lifted in the air, her feet dangling over the nightmare machine. "Surprise, bitch! You and I need to have a heart-to-heart!" Rory thrashed and struggled against his grip, her hands desperately trying to force his fingers apart. Krueger's eyes flitted down to the nightmare machine before locking back on hers. "Ya might wanna rethink what yer trying to do there, blondie. My fingers slip, you're likely to take a pretty nasty fall!"

Realizing he was right, Rory ceased her struggles. His grip was tight, but she found she was still able to breath, just barely. "What do you want?" she managed to rasp.

Krueger's grin broadened and he suddenly dragged Rory away from the pit, turning and tossing her. Her back slammed hard into a nearby rusty iron vat, and she fell to the metal meshed floor in a heap. Krueger strode toward her. "You've been a naughty girl, Rory."

Rory managed to climb to her feet. She kept her back pressed to the vat behind her and stared as defiantly as she could at Krueger as he approached. "Why? 'Cause I haven't been telling people about you? I know how this works, Krueger. I know that it's fear that powers you. If I don't tell anybody about you, you don't gain any strength!"

Krueger paused and glanced over his shoulder at Kara, still dangling above the nightmare machine. He flicked his clawed glove at her, and suddenly the chains dropped several feet, sending Kara momentarily plummeting toward the machine, screaming as she went, before suddenly coming to an abrupt stop. "Seem to be gettin' plenty of fear at the moment, thanks to that bitch's friends stupidly wandering into my house a few days ago." Seeing the dawning look of horror on Kara's face, Krueger chuckled. "That's right. Daddy didn't tell ya what happened at 1428 the other night, did he?"

"You killed them!" Kara suddenly shrieked from where she hung over the pit. "You killed Molly and Tyler! _You're_ Freddy!"

"Oh my God…" Rory breathed. So that's what had happened! That's what her father hadn't wanted to tell her about the night she'd read Nancy's diary. Her eyes suddenly widened. Nancy! "But fear is what gives you your power over your victims! Nancy said-"

Krueger suddenly slammed his clawed hand against the vat, inches to the left of Rory's head. His look of amusement changed suddenly into one of contempt. "Nancy? Nancy who?"

Rory's mind raced as she struggled to remember the adolescent scrawling on the diary's cover. Clearly whoever this Nancy person was, she unnerved Krueger. "T-t-thompson! Nancy Thompson!"

Krueger snarled. "No way! I put that miserable fucking bitch out of my misery a long time ago! She's dead!"

Rory tried to give Krueger another defiant look. "She told me I didn't need to be afraid of you."

Krueger leaned forward until his face was just inches from Rory's. "Is that right?" Rory had never seen such hateful eyes before. He suddenly turned away from her and began walking back toward the edge of the catwalk, watching Kara. "Well, if you're so confident in that, why don't we play a little game! It's called 'Who Dies First!' It's a pretty simple game." With a wave of his clawed hand, a sudden tear in reality appeared, and through it Rory could see the class room where Justin, Luke, and Chas were sitting. The three of them were engaged in discussion with Mr. Bachman. Rory could also see herself and Kara asleep and going unnoticed by the other four. If only someone would wake them up!

"You get to pick!" Krueger continued, turning back to Rory. "Either one of your friends dies, one which _I _get to pick at random, or _this_ boney skank gets to bite it right now." He gestured to Kara. "'Course, if you're so confident that I can't hurt anybody, you could just let her fall into the machine. It won't hurt her, right? Or better yet, just pick one of your friends. I can't get to 'em, right? _Nancy_ told you so, right? Just pick and this whole thing will end!"

The chains holding Kara suddenly grew a few more feet and Kara dropped again, stopping just a few feet above the machine now. Tears were streaming down her face.

Krueger grinned. "Your call, Blondie! One of your friends dies later, or _she_ dies right now! Hard to pick when they're danglin' on the hook right in front of you, ain't it?"

Rory looked back and forth between Kara and the image of her friends. And that's when it washed over her.

Doubt. The doubt that Krueger _couldn't_ hurt anyone. Maybe he could!

Or maybe she was just playing right into what he wanted.

The chains grew and Kara fell even further. She had to jerk her feet up to avoid getting sucked into the machine now, but not before it managed to rip one of the combat boots she wore clear off of her foot. Kara shrieked. "Rory, for the love of God!"

"Alright!" Rory suddenly cried out. "Alright, just let her go, you bastard!"

Krueger cackled. "Selling out your friends for someone you barely know, eh? Noble." The image showing Rory's friends suddenly zoomed in until it _only_ showed Chas. "I've made _my_ decision too! Live with _that_, bitch!"

And with that Krueger snapped his fingers…

* * *

Rory suddenly awoke to the sound of someone screaming. Sitting up quickly, she turned and saw Kara thrashing in her seat, shrieking in terror. Everyone else in the room was staring at Kara as well.

"Miss Murphy, please!" Mr. Bachman, who looked just as scared as Rory felt, took a step toward Kara, but the purple-haired girl was already out of her seat.

"He's going to kill us!" she screamed to the other four students in the classroom. "He's going to kill us all!" She turned and ran out of the classroom. Mr. Bachman followed her and, after a moment, so did Rory.

When she reached the hallway outside, Rory glanced around. She didn't see Kara or Mr. Bachman… but she did see the large crowd of students that seemed to be gathering around an argument. Principal Shea stood at the center of the crowd seemingly oblivious to its presence. His grey hair looked disheveled and his face was bright red with anger. Rory had always liked Principal Shea because of his level headed demeanor. She'd never seen him looking so angry.

Standing near Principal Shea, also at the center of the crowd, staring defiantly into his face was some young, pretty, black-haired girl that Rory had never seen before.

"How dare you come into this school and mention _that_ name!" Principal Shea suddenly bellowed. "How _dare_ you!"

"How dare _you_ attempt to cover up something like this!" the black haired girl shot back. "People have a right to know when they're being murdered, pal! This entire town's population of children and teenagers was utterly wiped out in the nineties!" She gestured at the students that surrounded them. "You think these students' parents might be curious to know that? You think this whole town that you revitalized through a population drive advertising how wholesome and safe Springwood is might be interested in knowing that!"

Principal Shea seemed to notice the crowd gathering around them for the first time.

"Erm… all of you return to your classrooms. This doesn't concern any of you." He ran a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to regain his composure.

The black haired girl laughed sharply, before turning to the crowd. By the way she carried herself, Rory could tell this girl very much enjoyed being in front of a crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Lisa Clifton, and I have evidence that a serial killer named Frederick Charles Krueger was either directly or indirectly responsible for _countless_ deaths that occurred in this town, and your _wonderful_ principal here, along with city hall and the sheriff's department are responsible for covering those deaths up! Why don't you all go home and ask your parents about _that_!"

"Oh God, no!" Rory gasped.

The fury in Principal Shea's eyes flared up again, and he suddenly grabbed Lisa roughly by the elbow. "You idiotic bitch! Do you have any idea what you've just done!"

"You see how he's reacting!" Lisa said to the crowd, before ripping her arm out of Shea's grip. "Get your hands off me!"

At that moment a blonde haired young man in a red baseball cap suddenly appeared at the edge of the crowd. Nobody else seemed to notice him but Rory did. The young man locked eyes with Lisa and gave her a very subtle nod. Lisa nodded back, before turning to Principal Shea.

"You can't keep this covered up forever!" She snarled, before turning and pushing her way through the crowd toward the young man in the baseball cap. The two of them then very hurriedly walked away, passing Rory as they went.

"I got it." Rory heard the young man say to Lisa as the two of them passed.

As she turned to watch them go, Rory was startled to see that Luke, Justin, and Chas had apparently followed her out into the hallway and had been watching the fight over her shoulder the whole time.

Justin turned to Luke, grinning. "Holy shit, did you see Shea's face? I thought his head was gonna explode!"

Chas looked decidedly nervous. She glanced at Rory. "Do you think all that stuff that girl said was true? About all those murders?"

"Frederick Charles Krueger," Luke mused. "That name _does_ sound familiar…"

Chas shivered. "Gives me the creeps. I wish I hadn't heard that."

Rory could only look at her in horror. "God, I wish you hadn't too…"


	6. Deception

"**Deception"**

"_Beware of those who come disguised as harmless sheep, but are wolves and will tear you apart."_

_-Matthew 7:15; paraphrase_

_That afternoon…_

"We're here, Kara."

Kara Murphy woke with a start from the shallow doze she'd been in, blinking a few times to get her bearings. She was seated in the passenger side of her father's car, a white 2009 Honda Accord. At the wheel next to her was her father himself. Mr. Murphy barely glanced at his daughter as she sat up before his gaze returned to the windshield. He was a stern looking, stocky shaped man, balding on top, with a thick, bushy mustache. He was still dressed in his work clothes, a charcoal grey suit and tie.

"We're here." He said again, his tone impassive.

Kara glanced past him. Out the driver's side window she could see a simple, pleasant looking two story white house with grey shingles and a garage on the side. The Lawson residence. Kara unbuckled her seat belt, opened the passenger side door, and slid out. She glanced back at her father, who offered her another indifferent look.

"What time do you want me to pick you up?" he asked.

Kara shrugged, brushing a dark purple lock of hair out of her face. "Not sure. Can I just call you when I'm ready to come home?"

Mr. Murphy nodded curtly. "Fine."

Kara paused momentarily, opening her mouth as if to say something else, before simply nodding back and shutting the door. Without so much as another look at her, Mr. Murphy put the Accord in gear and sped off. Kara watched the car's retreating tail lights, sighing as it turned the corner at the end of the street. This was how her relationship with both of her parents had been since she was caught with her drugs and sent to rehab the previous summer. It had taken weeks for them to even acknowledge her existence after she'd come home. And ever since then, they'd treated her just as her father had now. They spoke to her. They gave her rides where she needed to go (they'd cut up her license and refused to let her drive herself anywhere since the incident.) They fed her, clothed her, and sent her to school.

But Kara got the feeling they didn't really see her as their daughter any more. She was now simply a responsibility, like paying the bills or washing the dishes. As far as they were concerned, their daughter had left the building as soon as they'd found the needles. Kara shivered slightly, pulling closed the black, denim jacket she wore over her loose fitting, long sleeved black My Chemical Romance shirt, and baggy black cargo pants. The temperature had dropped considerably since those badass storms had blown in over the weekend and it was definitely starting to _feel_ like fall now more than ever. The sky had been overcast ever since the downpour had ended, the clouds seeming to hang ominous and pregnant over Springwood, threatening to unleash the torrents again at any moment. Though Kara didn't think that was why she was shivering.

She glanced back up at the Lawson's house. It was simple, pleasant, and cookie cutter, just like many of the other houses in Springwood. She was standing at the sidewalk in front of the house. A concrete walkway lead up to the house's green porch. A homemade looking ceramic wind chime hung from the porch's overhang, jingling softly in the wind. Kara was surprised, for more reasons than one. She didn't know much about Rory, despite sharing Ancient History with her for most of the semester, but she did know that her father was supposed to be some sort of big shot contractor. She'd half expected to be dropped off at a mansion after Rory had asked her to come over earlier that afternoon after school.

Which was the other reason Kara was surprised. Out of everybody in Ancient History she'd never really had a beef with Rory. Her friend Chas always seemed a bit stuck up, and her friend Justin was a douchebag who probably thought Kara couldn't hear the insults he whispered about her to his friends behind her back but she did. The other guy in the class, the cute one, Luke, he was okay. But like Rory, she'd never really spoken to him much, never really given him much thought. Which begged the question, why had Rory invited her over? She'd done it in a rush after school, very quickly, just telling Kara it was very important, before dashing away. She'd seemed distracted.

_It was the dream_, a small voice whispered in the back of Kara's head. Of course, that was ridiculous. Yeah, she'd had some super freaky dream with Rory in it when she'd fallen asleep in Ancient History. And yeah, maybe she'd overreacted slightly… okay, maybe a little more than slightly. She'd awoken screaming and hysterical and had been halfway out the school's front door when Mr. Bachman had finally managed to catch her.

It had taken her a while to calm down and after that even more time to convince Mr. Bachman he didn't need to call her parents. The last thing she needed was them to know she'd had some kind of freak out at school. They'd probably think she was just on something again and throw her back into Westin Hills…

But the dream had been so fucking vivid! And could anyone blame her for being so high strung after what she'd seen over the weekend? After watching one of her best friend's insides fall out of her stomach…

Kara shivered again. That would be an image she would never forget…but regardless. That didn't change the fact that the dream about the burned man with the finger-knives was nothing but a dream. Even if he _did_ call himself Freddy, the name she'd thought she'd seen painted on the wall in 1428 Elm.

"Did see!" Kara muttered to herself. "I don't care what that fuckin' sheriff said, I know what I saw…"

But even then, what did that matter? Maybe in her drug addled state Molly had painted that up there herself before cutting out her own guts. _One, two, Freddy's coming for you_. It was a familiar phrase, one Kara vaguely remembered from a jump rope song in grade school. The dream had just picked and chose things that had been swirling around in Kara's head and manifested them as that awful nightmare. That's how dreams worked, right?

Although it didn't explain why Rory had been there. It wasn't like Kara had been thinking about her when she fell asleep. Kara had been pretty out of it when she walked into Ancient History that morning. She hadn't even really registered Rory, or anyone else in the class for that matter.

But that couldn't be why Rory had asked her to come over after school. How could it be? How could Rory have known Kara had had a dream about her? Kara hadn't told her.

And people couldn't share dreams.

Could they?

The wind suddenly blew through the trees in the front yard, the rustle of the dry, red, brown, and orange leaves that still managed to cling to the branches snapping Kara out of her thoughts. She shook her head, realizing she must've been standing at the end of the walkway for several minutes now, just staring off into space. To any outside observers, she probably looked like some kind of creeper. Slowly she made her way down the path to the front porch and up the stairs before reaching the front door and, after pausing briefly for one last second, finally rang the doorbell. A moment went by before the door opened.

Rory's father, Donald Lawson, stood on the other side. He was dressed in a neatly pressed pair of khaki pants, and a nice, deep blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He crossed his arms when he saw Kara, his eyes instantly narrowing. Kara sighed inwardly. It was annoying, but it was a look she was used to getting from adults at this point.

Suspicion and instant mistrust. Kara supposed she deserved such looks.

"May I help you?" Donald said finally.

Kara nodded, lowering her gaze. With very few exceptions, most adults made her uncomfortable. "Uh, I think so. You're Rory's dad, right? This is her house?"

Donald nodded. "Yes. And you are?"

"Uh, Kara. I'm, like… in her Ancient History class? She asked me to come over?"

Donald raised his eyebrows, his look of suspicion replaced by one of surprise. "_You're_ Kara?"

Kara nodded, glancing up at him. "Yup. That's me."

"She told me you were coming but I didn't expect…" he trailed off, his eyes narrowing again slightly. "Have I seen you somewhere before?"

Kara shrugged. "It's possible. Springwood isn't exactly New York City, ya know?"

Donald nodded slowly, but didn't say anything further. A long awkward moment went by, when suddenly a new voice broke in.

"Dad? Who is it?" Rory appeared at the door behind her father. Her eyes widened when she saw Kara. "Oh, good, Kara! You're here."

"Yup." It was all Kara could think to say.

Donald glanced at Rory before looking back at Kara. "This is the other friend you said was coming over?"

Rory nodded. Her dad raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing else. He slowly opened the door wider, and gestured behind him. "Alright, Kara. Come on in. And wipe your feet please; it's a bit muddy out there."

Kara nodded, lowering her head again, before coming in and thoroughly wiping her feet on the rug just over the threshold. Donald pulled the door shut behind her and, after giving Rory one last furtive glance, left she and Kara alone. Rory looked over at Kara and smiled. Kara couldn't help but feel she was looking into a bizarro universe mirror when she looked at Rory. She was petite, pretty and blonde as opposed to Kara who saw herself as tall, too skinny, and plain. Rory's hair was up in a ponytail, the loose strands held back by a pink head band, while Kara's brown, purple streaked hair hung down loosely over her shoulders. Rory wore a short-sleeved pink top, and denim skirt, showing off her athletic legs, while Kara did everything she could to make sure as much of her skin was covered up as possible at any given moment.

"Sorry about my dad," Rory said after a moment. "He's always suspicious when I ask new people over."

Sure he is, Kara wanted to say. Instead, she just shrugged. "It's cool." Another awkward moment went by before Kara finally broke the silence. "Okay, so… why'd you invite me over?"

Rory looked momentarily surprised at Kara's bluntness. "I'm sorry?"

Kara shrugged. "We don't need to go through the motions like we're fuckin' besties or something. We haven't said two words to each other the whole semester, now suddenly you're inviting me over to your house? Obviously something's up."

"You mean you don't…" Rory trailed off. She shot a look over Kara's shoulder, down the hallway, where her father had gone. She could see him bustling around in the kitchen. She looked back at Kara, gesturing to the nearby stairs. "Come on. We can talk in my room."

Rory turned and strode up the stairs and after a moment's hesitation, Kara followed.

* * *

Luke Morley sat on the edge of Rory's bed, glancing around her room anxiously. He ran his hands through his sand colored hair, exhaling deeply. He was nervous. It wasn't like he hadn't been here before; he'd been over to Rory's plenty of time, just hanging out with her, Justin, and Chas.

It was the urgency in Rory's demeanor as she'd asked (demanded) that the three of them come over to her house to discuss something important.

He, Chas, and Justin had been walking through the hallways at Springwood High making their way to their lockers after the final bell had rung. Justin had been saying something stupid, like usual, that had Chas on the verge of decking him, when Rory came rushing up to them so quickly, she'd nearly collided with Luke. Her eyes were wide, and she seemed shaken up.

"Sheezus, Ror," Justin had said with a big, doofy grin. "You look like you just saw Chas's face sans makeup."

Chastity shot him a withering glare. "Actually, Rory, you look more like Justin's mom, after she comes into his room tomorrow morning and sees what I did to him in his sleep."

Justin grinned lecherously. "Oh, I know exactly what _you_ wanna do to me-"

"Would you two shut up for a second?" Rory's outburst had caused all three of them to jump in shock. Luke didn't think he'd ever heard Rory shout at anyone before. It was unsettling.

"Damn, sor-ry." Justin said, his eyes narrowing somewhat.

"No," Rory shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. I just…" she sighed, looking up at Luke in particular now. "Do you guys think you could come over to my place this afternoon? All of you. I have something I really need to talk to you about."

Luke and Justin exchanged glances. Chas shrugged. "Sure, I can make it."

Luke nodded. "I'm there, Ror."

Justin grinned slightly. "I think I could squeeze you in between my dinner date with Katy Perry and my appearance on Letterman."

"Good. Great! Be there by four o'clock." Rory looked a bit relieved, but no less troubled. She started to walk away when she suddenly stopped and turned back. "One last thing… this might seem weird but… don't fall asleep between now and the time you guys come over, okay?"

"Aww!" Justin looked horrified. "No after-school nappy with my bink-bink? How shall I function?"

Chas glared at him. "I wouldn't call what you do 'functioning.'"

"Guys, seriously!" Rory sighed. "Just don't fall asleep, okay?" Her gaze fell on Chas. "Especially you."

Chas raised an eyebrow. "Um…oh…kay?"

"Thanks." Rory nodded, before turning and dashing away. Rory, Chas, and Justin all exchanged confused glances.

"That… was strange," Luke said finally.

"Lil' bit." Chas replied nodding.

The day had, admittedly, gotten off to a very strange and disconcerting start. First, that Kara girl had suddenly started shrieking and bolted out of Ancient History class that morning for seemingly no reason.

And even more disturbing than that had been that black haired college girl ranting in the hallway about some serial killer. That had rattled everyone present, particularly because of how upset Principal Shea had gotten over it. If the Principal had just brushed aside her accusations, that would have been one thing. But his reaction had been so full of rage.

And, Luke thought, a hint of fear.

Luke shook his head. Frederick Charles Krueger, the black haired girl had said. That was the killer's name. Luke was pretty certain he'd never heard it before… but for some strange reason he couldn't even begin to explain, it filled him with dread.

Eventually, Luke had been able to brush it off. Weird shit happened sometimes at school, particularly at Springwood High. Justin hadn't seemed bothered by it at all, more amused than anything else and Chas had reacted nervously at first, but even she had eventually gotten on with her day.

But Rory hadn't. After Ancient History class, he, Rory, Chas, and Justin had all gone their separate ways to their respective classes. Luke had kept an eye on Rory all day. When they passed in the hallway, when they sat together at lunch. The whole time she'd just seemed so distracted and distant. And jumpy. When Billy Hudson had dropped a tray at lunch Rory had let out a quick scream and Luke had thought her eyes were going to explode out of her head. Luke had tried mentioning to Justin how scared Rory had seemed. But, of course, instead of being concerned for his friend like a normal human being, the moron had instantly started badgering Luke about how he was "watching Rory all day, hmm?" Luke rolled his eyes, thinking about it. Justin's inability to take anything seriously was going to be the death of him.

At that moment, Luke's thoughts were interrupted when the door to Rory's room opened and Rory strode in… followed by Kara. Luke raised his eyebrows, quickly standing. Rory invited Kara over? Luke hadn't been aware that Rory even _knew_ Kara. Not really, anyway. "Uh, hi… Kara, right?"

Kara stopped briefly, as if surprised to see him as well, before looking him up and down. "Yup. Luke?"

Luke nodded. "That's right."

"Super-duper." Kara turned to Rory, who had taken a seat at the drawing desk next to the door. "Alright, so… now ya wanna tell me why I'm here?"

Rory tilted her head. "You really don't know?"

"I really don't. There a reason I should?"

Rory regarded her with silence for a moment, before turning to Luke. "I'd really rather wait 'til Chas and Justin get here. Particularly Chas."

Kara's face darkened. "Princess Hotbody and Chuckles the idiot-boy are comin' too, huh?" She slumped against the wall, crossing her arms. "Fan-fuckin'-tastic."

Rory and Luke exchanged glances. "That seems a bit harsh." Rory said.

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I mean… do you really even know either of them?"

"No, but," Kara shrugged again. "What can I say? 'Skeletina' can be touchy."

Luke winced a bit at that. Skeletina was Justin's favorite nickname for Kara. Justin had a lot of nicknames for the three druggies that sat in the back of Ancient History. Luke hadn't really approved of Justin's ridiculing them when he barely knew two things about them, but also hadn't exactly taken any steps to stop it, not realizing any of them had heard Justin's insults.

Kara seemed to notice their looks, and waved a hand. "Sorry. Don't mean to be a bitch or anything."

Rory shrugged. "It's okay. With what you've been through lately, it's not surprising you're on edge."

Kara's eyes narrowed. "The fuck you know about what I've been through lately?"

Rory looked directly into the other girl's eyes now. "Because I've been going through it lately too."

Kara glared at her. "Really? Your best friends were murdered over the weekend too, huh?"

Luke's eyes widened. "What?"

Kara glanced at him. "That's right," she said softly. "Molly and Tyler. The other two that were in our Ancient History class. Bet you didn't even know that was their names. They were killed this weekend-"

"In Fourteen Twenty-Eight Elm Street." Rory cut her off.

Kara's already pale complexion grew paler still. She turned to Rory. "How in the hell did you know that?"

"Because my dad just bought the property." Rory stood slowly, walking toward Kara. "Because I've been there. Because I've met the man who killed them. You have too. I know because I was there when you did."

Kara's eyes grew wide. Her mouth slowly opened and closed as if she were trying to speak, but no words would come out.

Luke was completely bewildered now. "Rory… what's going on? What are you talking about?"

Rory turned to him. "I'm talking about a man named Freddy Krueger."

* * *

The opening drum lines of Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher" began loud and clear as Justin Straub's cell phone went off. Justin himself shot up stock straight in bed. He was fully clothed, not even having bothered to take his shoes off, his immaculately spiked black hair slightly pushed in on the right side, the side he'd been laying on. It was something of an afternoon ritual for him to come home, shuffle into his room, collapse onto the bed and nap for an hour or so before beginning a good, relaxing evening of not doing homework. He yawned as he sat up in his unmade bed, and glanced around his room. Nearly every square inch was in complete disarray. Clothes covered almost the entire surface of the floor, though paper plates, candy wrappers, soda cans, and a pizza box or two helped. A TV was on top of his dresser directly across from the foot of his bed, an Xbox 360 standing beside it.

Justin yawned and stretched, glancing at the barely visible alarm clock, peeking out from beneath a pair of boxer shorts on his night stand. 4:15. Wasn't there something he was supposed to be doing? His eyes widened as his phone rang again. Rory's! He was supposed to meet the crew at Rory's! He snatched his phone up, wincing as he saw "Rory calling" on the display before flipping it open.

"Uh, yello?"

"Justin, thank God!" Justin was surprised by the relief in Rory's voice.

"Sorry, Ror. I fell-" Justin paused, remembering Rory's earlier orders not to sleep. "Uh, into a hole. Very deep. Had to dig myself out."

"You fell asleep didn't you?"

"Oh, I might've… ya know, rested my eyes for a minute or two, but I certainly didn't fall-"

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Justin was momentarily stunned to silence. After a pause he finally spoke. "Am I… hurt? Uh, no… a little groggy maybe? You realize that the whole 'falling into a hole' line was a joke, right? That didn't actually happen."

Rory sighed from the other end. "Well, could you do me a favor and try to stay awake long enough to get over here? Please?"

Justin's eyes narrowed. "Rory, what is so important that you-"

"Please just get over here, alright!" Rory sounded almost frantic. "And… would you mind terribly swinging by Chas's house and seeing if she's okay?"

Justin scoffed. "Oh, so I don't show up and you call and bitch me out, but Chas doesn't show and you send someone to investigate? Balanced."

"I tried to call her." Rory's voice was quiet now. "She didn't answer."

"Well, what am I, her babysitter? She's a big girl. Besides, you know how she is. She probably got caught up trying to cover up all those freckles on her nose with makeup and forgot." Justin had no idea why Chas had the compulsive need to do so, but she did. In Justin's opinion it was pointless. He thought the freckles were incredibly cute… but of course he'd never say so to Chas.

"That doesn't explain why she wouldn't have answered the phone," Rory said.

Justin shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe she fell asleep too?"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Rory replied. "Please, Justin? Just swing by her place? It's like three blocks from my house, it's practically on the way anyway."

Justin groaned, finally hauling himself up off his bed. "Ugh! Fine! God! The things I do for you people."

"Thank you, Justin!"

"Yeah, yeah…" But Rory had already hung up. Justin rolled his eyes before flipping his phone shut. "Women…"

* * *

Justin slowed his car, a red 2003 Toyota Corolla, to a not-quite-full stop at the stop sign at the end of his street, Cornwall, before turning onto Springwood's Main Street and heading in the direction of Chas's house. He sighed as he drove, knowing that Chas was going to be there. It never bothered him seeing Chastity at school, seeming to just be a natural order of things, but seeing her outside of Springwood High, even just hanging out, always made him nervous. Gave him butterflies, as stupid as that sounded.

He'd had a thing for her for a long time. She was gorgeous and smart and didn't seem _entirely_ disgusted with him, at least not one hundred percent of the time. But, he'd never made a move and he probably never would. Chas was into a higher caliber of guy than he belonged to, the kind that could run more than ten yards without getting winded and could lift more with one hand than Justin could with all his strength. And of course, there was the fear of ruining their group dynamic, if he expressed feelings for Chas and she turned him down.

So he played dumb about it. Covered up his feelings with his humor, making Chas an object of playful mockery rather than romantic affection. It was a role he knew she didn't exactly appreciate, but he figured as long as he kept her in a constant state of annoyance, there wouldn't be any chance that she noticed how he felt about her and, therefore, no chance of things becoming weird and awkward.

It'd been a long time since he'd had any one on one time with Chas. So the prospect of stopping by her house to check on her before making their way to Rory's made him nervous all over again. He sighed, glancing out the right window as he drove. Across the road, a massive vacant lot stretched, where not even two years ago seemingly endless cornfields had once stood. On the other end of the lot loomed a gigantic, empty department store building that construction on had just been finished. A large sign at the edge of the lot read, in big black letters: "COMING SOON: A SUPER S-MART! SHOP SMART, SHOP S-MART!" It was another commercial addition to Springwood's constant attempts to make itself look more important than it actually was. Springwood was slowly but surely trying to make the transition from a small and sleepy Midwestern town to… whatever, Justin wasn't quite sure. But in the last year alone Springwood had opened a giant, twenty screen, stadium seating movie theater, a sprawling, three story mall, and now this place. Like the town was collectively compensating for something.

Justin's gaze moved back to the windshield… and his eyes shot wide.

A goat had wandered out into the middle of the road.

Justin slammed on the breaks, and jerked the wheel hard to the left. The car spun sideways, its tires squealing, and for some reason Justin's seatbelt didn't catch, his head flying forward and slamming on the steering wheel.

"Son of a bitch!" Justin's hands went to his forehead. He could feel a warm stream of fluid running down his face. For a moment the whole world spun and Justin could see only stars. Finally, he lowered his hands and, blinking, tried to focus his vision. As his sight slowly returned to him he immediately noticed two things.

Number one, his hands were covered in blood. He'd apparently hit his head pretty hard.

Number two, it had suddenly grown much darker. It hadn't exactly been bright and sunny, the sky had still been a dark overcast from the storms that had blown in over the weekend, but now it was extremely dark, like, dead of night dark. Blinking he glanced around to get his bearings. Outside of his window, to his left, was an old, decrepit looking two story white house, with a green roof. A line of yellow "DO NOT CROSS" police tape surrounded the house like a fence. Justin's eyes went wide as he saw the house. "No way…"

He'd seen the house before. His buddy Michael Monroe lived across the street from it. It was a house on Elm Street.

How the fuck had he gotten onto Elm Street?

He glanced across the street to try to find Michael's house… and froze.

Michael's house wasn't there. Nor were any of the other houses on Elm Street. In fact, the world seemed to abruptly end at the edge of the road. Just a pitch black void seemed to stretch off into eternity on the other side. Justin glanced forward and backward and saw the same thing. His car, the road, and the house seemed to be the only things in existence.

Maybe he'd hit his head even harder than he'd thought?

With a burst of static, his car's radio suddenly came on. The static cleared and Justin could hear what sounded like little girls singing. "One, two, Freddy's coming for you… three, four, better lock your door… five six, grab a crucifix-"

Unnerved, Justin quickly shut off the radio. Almost immediately it popped back on. This time a strange, inhuman voice spoke in a rhythm, almost as if chanting. It was deep and guttural, and it seemed to be speaking backward. It was followed by a piercing, woman's scream. Again Justin switched off the radio, and again it popped back on. Another voice, deep, and raspy spoke, this time in English. "Little pig, little pig, let me in… HAW HAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!"

Without warning something slammed itself against the driver's side window of the car. Justin screamed and would have leapt out of his seat, had his seat belt not still been on. He looked out the window to see what had collided with his car.

It was Chastity. Her brown, usually immaculate, hair was in complete disarray, her eye shadow smudged and running down her cheeks. Her dark purple top and khaki pants were slashed and torn, her left sleeve completely torn off revealing four deep slashes on her shoulder. She looked terrified. Justin's eyes widened and he unbuckled his seatbelt and quickly got out of the car.

"Justin, thank God!" Chas threw her arms around him, sobbing.

Without thinking about it, Justin returned her embrace. "Jesus, Chastity, what in the hell happened to you?"

Chas suddenly pulled back, looking up at him, her eyes wide and desperate. "It was him! He's going to kill me, Justin! He's going to kill me! He said Rory made the choice and he said he was going to make you watch!"

"What?" Justin's eyes were wide with shock. "Who are you talking about?"

"Freddy Krueger!" Chas shrieked.

Justin cocked an eyebrow. Freddy Krueger? The name sounded vaguely familiar. "Who the hell is Freddy Krueger?"

"That would be me!" came a gravelly voice from behind Justin. The same gravelly voice he'd heard on the radio. Justin quickly spun around and saw a hideously burnt man in a red and green sweater and dirty brown fedora sitting in the driver's seat of his car. The man grinned and waved at him with his right hand, upon which he wore a leather glove, with four long razor sharp blades protruding from the fingers. "Nice wheels!" Freddy cackled. "I think I'll take 'em!" He reached out and pulled the car's door shut, before igniting the engine and gunning the gas. The Corolla took off down the street.

"Hey!" Justin yelled, his confusion momentarily replaced by anger. "That's my mom's car, asshole!"

The car sped down the road a ways before suddenly hooking a sharp left and, with its tires screeching on the pavement, pulling a U-turn, coming to a complete stop facing Chas and Justin. For a moment, the car simply sat, its engine idling. Then with a loud screech of metal on metal, four giant steel blades pushed their way through the car's hood, six foot versions of the blades Freddy had been wearing on his glove. The car's engine revved.

"Oh, shit!" Justin quickly dove off the road. He turned and saw that Chas hadn't moved. She seemed frozen with fear in the car's headlights. The car's engine revved again, louder this time. "Chas, come on!" Chas still didn't move. With a massive roar, far louder than any sound Justin had ever heard the Corolla's engine make, the car took off down the road, quickly bearing down on Chas, who still stood rigid with terror. Justin quickly leapt back out into the street, wrapping his arms around Chastity, before throwing himself back onto the sidewalk and taking Chas with him, just as the car sped over where she had been standing. The two of them hit the ground with the thud as the car pulled another U-turn and began revving its engine again. Justin groaned, his back aching from the impact, as he forced himself to his feet, dragging Chas up with him. "Come on!" he began pulling her toward the house. It was their only chance.

Chastity's eyes went wide as soon as she realized where he was pulling her toward. She dug her heels into the ground. "No! Not in there! That's _his_ house!"

Justin was still angry at this jackass stealing his car and at his trying to hurt Chastity. He fostered that anger, knowing that if it began to fade, fear, confusion, and panic would soon take over. Now was not the time to think about what was going on. Now was the time to react and quickly. Justin jerked Chas's arm. "Chas, it's either get in the house, or get skewered and run over by Prune Face back there. Your call."

Behind them, the car's engine roared once more as, with a screech of spinning tires, the vehicle began barreling toward them once again. Chas's eyes shot wide as she looked back at it. "Oh God!"

Justin chose not to wait for any further answer. Pulling as hard as he could, he dashed toward the house, Chas stumbling along behind him, no longer offering any resistance. Justin could hear the car growing closer, not daring to look back. As they reached the steps, Justin heard a screech of metal on concrete as the car jumped the curb. A spark of panic began to form as Justin realized the rotting heap of a house before them might not offer them much refuge if Freddy decided to just plow headlong into it… but it had to be better than nothing! Justin grabbed the knob as he reached the door, throwing his shoulder into it, and flying across the threshold, pulling Chastity with him. Just as the car reached the steps to the porch, Justin flung the front door shut, plunging he and Chastity into darkness. The instant the door was shut, the roaring of the engine disappeared altogether. Justin braced for the impact of the car, crouching down, covering his head, and scrunching his eyes shut… but the impact never came.

Justin slowly opened his eyes. Utter blackness greeted him. He blinked several times, trying to will his eyes to adjust to the darkness to no avail. Slowly he stood, his arms stretched out in front of him, feeling the air around him.

"Chastity? Where are you? Are you alright?" No answer. A cold hard knot, like a block of ice, began to form in the pit of Justin's stomach. His mind was starting to reel at what had just been happening… he'd been on his way to Chas's house, he'd hit his head, and suddenly been warped into the fucking twilight zone, into some bizarro, horror movie version of that shit shack on Elm Street. Where some freak with knives for fingers was trying to kill Chastity. Nothing about it made sense. What the fuck was going on? "Chastity!" Justin's voice was more frantic now. The panic was getting harder to push back now that his mind had tried, and failed, to rationalize what was going on. "Chastity, where the fuck are you?"

With a pop, the lights suddenly came on, and Justin could see where he was for the first time. He was in some sort of very long hallway. The flickering light emanated from an ancient and dusty looking chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A red carpet, that looked as if it once might have been elegant, but was now soiled, dirty, and molding, ran the length of the hallway's floor. The walls on either side of Justin were wood paneled, oak maybe, though it was hard to tell with the rot. They were lined with mirrors, eight of them, four on each of the two walls to Justin's right and left, dirty and smudged, each about two feet wide and eight feet tall. Justin glanced behind him and saw that the hallway was dead ended. The door had vanished. At the other end of the hallway, was another dead end, where what looked like a large oil painting with an ornate golden frame hung on the wall.

Chas was nowhere to be seen.

Justin slowly crept down the hallway, glancing at the mirrors nervously as he went. They were directly across from each other, the reflections within eerily stretching off into infinity. As Justin reached the other end of the hallway, he looked up at the oil painting.

It depicted a large, dead tree standing in a field, its branches craggy and bent, like a clawed hand reaching for the sky. The sky itself was overcast with thick, menacing looking clouds. In the grass at the foot of the tree was a small bundle, wrapped in a cloth of some kind. What it was, Justin couldn't tell, but it seemed to be resting in a small, dark pool of some sort… like a puddle of blood. In the same dark fluid, there seemed to be some kind of writing painted on the base of the tree near the bundle, in some kind of old looking letters that Justin wasn't familiar with.

"Ya like it?" came a familiar gravelly voice from behind Justin. Justin spun around and saw Freddy, standing at the other end of the hallway, his right arm around Chas, his claws resting on her throat. Chas was sobbing. "It belongs to my new roommate. Personally, I don't get it, but painting was never my thing. I'm more into sculpting and carving. Wouldn't you agree, Chastity?" Krueger pressed his claws against her throat harder, causing a small trickle of blood to run down her neck. Chas let out a cry of pain and Krueger cackled in response.

Justin took a step forward, his anger once again overcoming his fear. "Let her go, you sick son of a bitch!"

"Ah ah ah!" Krueger put a halting finger on his left hand up, tightening his grip around Chas's throat with his right. "Not so fast, fuckstick! You wanna save the girl, you gotta play the game!"

"I'm not playing any fucking game!" Justin snarled. "Let her go!"

"Ooo, look at you, Mr. Tough Guy!" Freddy's grin broadened. "You don't _have_ to play. Tell me though, after I cut off this bitch's head, do you wanna tell your pal, blondie, that you didn't even try to save this little whore, or should I?"

Justin's eyes narrowed. "What..?"

Freddy rolled his eyes, glancing at Chas as if they were sharing an inside joke. "Kinda dense, ain't he?" He looked back over at Justin. "I'm talkin' about Rory, dumbass."

"Rory? What the hell does she have to do with this?"

Freddy's smile darkened. "She didn't tell you? We're old pals, she and I! In fact, you might even say she's the reason I'm here today! She's also the one that pointed me in little Chastity's direction here."

Justin's mind was racing. He had no idea what was happening, no idea what this maniac was talking about, and no idea what to do about it. His thoughts were interrupted when Chastity spoke next.

"Justin," she sobbed. "Please help me…"

"Alright!" Justin finally snapped at Krueger. "What do I have to do?"

Freddy chuckled darkly. "It's simple…"

And with that, he and Chas vanished into thin air. For a moment Justin was on the verge of panic… when suddenly they reappeared… within each of the eight mirrors lining either side of the hallway. Simultaneously, all eight Freddie's in the mirrors threw back their heads and laughed, before speaking in unison. "Your job is to figure out which mirror we're actually behind! Break through the right one, and the bitch gets to live! Pick the _wrong_ one, however…" Krueger drew his claw up to the front collar of Chas's shirt, before catching it, and pulling downward, ripping open the front down to her navel, exposing her chest, pink bra, and most of her stomach. He then slashed her across the flesh just above her breasts and below her collar bone, causing Chas to cry out. It was a small but deep cut. "…and I give her one of these. Every time you choose wrong, I cut her a few inches higher, 'til I get to this pretty, pretty neck of hers! It's all in your hands now, boy! Don't fuck it up!"

Justin glanced at each of the mirrors in turn, each one showing the exact same thing; Krueger leering down at him, Chas sobbing uncontrollably. How was he supposed to do this? How the fuck was this even happening? It was like something out of a nightmare.

As he looked at the mirror closest to him, to his right, Justin noticed the Freddy in this mirror wink at him. Without thinking about it, Justin lifted his right foot and smashed it through the mirror…

And screamed in pain.

Filling the closet sized space behind the mirror was a tangled mass of wicked looking razor wire, which Justin had buried his leg in up to his knee. He could feel the blades cutting into dozens of different places on his knee. Behind him, seven Freddies chuckled.

"Whoopsie. Did I forget to mention that? Pick wrong, and there are also consequences for you!" Freddy reached over and flicked another deep cut in Chas's chest, just above the last one. "My bad. Seven guesses left, funny-man!"

Justin tugged at his trapped leg. It wouldn't budge. He'd never been in so much pain. How badly had he just fucked himself up. He tugged again. Nothing. He wasn't going to be able to gingerly pull his leg out. He'd either have to sit here and do nothing… or…

Justin violently ripped his leg out of the razor wire and found a new meaning of agony. He collapsed to the floor. Dozens of long deep cuts lined his leg, like some kind of demonic road map. His shoe was completely torn away, his foot was all but destroyed. It was completely drenched in blood, his pinky mangled and hanging by a thread of skin, his big toe worn nearly down to the bone. Justin found he couldn't move his foot at all, and judging by the fire he felt in the back of his ankle, his Achilles tendon had been severed. Slowly, leaning his left side against the mirror on the opposite wall, Justin managed to push himself up with his remaining good leg.

"This your next choice?" Justin heard the Freddy in the mirror he leaned against say. "Works for me!"

"Wait!" the mirror behind Justin exploded before he could say anything else as a two foot wide, horizontal circular saw suddenly burst, spinning, from a slit in the wall behind the mirror. Justin tried to move, but it was too late. The saw imbedded itself in the bicep of his left arm, tearing through flesh and muscle, squealing and grinding as it became imbedded in the bone. Blood, tissue, and flakes of bone sprayed over Justin's face and shirt, and drenched the wall where the mirror had been. Screaming, Justin wrenched himself away from the saw, and collapsed to the floor again.

Freddy cackled once more. "You ain't doin' so hot, fucko! I dunno if you're even gonna make it six more rounds!" He slashed Chas again. This cut was just below her neckline now. "That's okay. Don't think she is either!"

"Justin!" Chas sobbed. Justin laid on the ground, in a growing pool of his own blood. His mangled right foot and left arm were now completely useless. He slowly looked up. In the nearest of the six remaining mirrors he could clearly see the three gashes on Chas's chest leading up to her neck. One more wrong guess and she'd be dead… and, he knew, so would he.

His eyes flitted from mirror to mirror trying to see something, anything that might give him a clue as to which one was the correct one… if there even _was_ a correct one. Maybe this was all bullshit, and this Freddy guy was just fucking with both of them, with no real intention of letting he or Chas go…

And that was when he noticed it. In the last mirror, furthest from him, on the wall to his left. The Chas in this mirror had momentarily pulled away from Freddy, before he roughly pulled her back. This hadn't happened in any of the other mirrors. Slowly, using his remaining good right arm, Justin dragged himself down the hall to the last mirror. The grins on the faces of all the mirror Freddies began to fade. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Slowly, Justin managed to pull himself to his knees at the foot of the mirror, before rearing back with his good hand, and punching the glass hard. The mirror spider-webbed, but it didn't shatter. Justin could feel tiny pieces of glass working their way into his hand, but he didn't care. He reached back again, and punched the glass harder. The cracks spread more, the glass gave more.

The Freddy in the mirror snarled. "You'd better hope to God you're picking the right one, boy! One more bad decision and you're both fucking dead!"

Justin looked up slowly at Freddy, before gritting his teeth and growling. "Go to hell!" With the last of his strength, Justin punched the mirror one final time. Finally, it shattered, shards of glass raining down on Justin. Chas fell from the space behind the mirror, landing on her knees in front of Justin, still sobbing. Freddy was nowhere to be found.

Chas reached over and gingerly touched Justin's shoulder. "Justin, are you…?"

Slowly Justin turned to look at her. "Chastity… what the fuck is this? What the fuck happening?"

Chas pulled Justin's good arm over her shoulder and helped him to a standing position. "We're dreaming. That's what he told me. That's how he comes for us! In our dreams! And whatever happens to us while we sleep, happens to us for real!"

"Dreaming?" Justin shook his head. "How can we be dreaming? How can _I_ be dreaming? I remember waking up! Rory woke me up when she called me to come check on you! I was on my way over to your house?"

Chas turned her head, looking him in the eye as she supported him. "Are you sure? Are you sure you waking up, talking to Rory, coming to get me… that wasn't all part of the dream too?"

Justin's eyes widened. "But it seemed so real, so vivid. I even saw that stupid Super S-Mart they're building off Main when I was driving past…"

"It seems real, because it _is_ real, Justin!" Chas was getting frantic again. "Don't you get it! This is all real! And _he _controls everything we see! It doesn't matter that we're asleep! Everything that happens here is real, and we are going to die, _for real_!"

"No!" Justin tightened his grip on Chastity's shoulder, his eyes narrowing. "No! We are _not _going to die! Real or not, it's still a dream. We just have to find a way to wake up! But I swear to you… we are _not_ going to give up. We are _not_ going to die here!"

Chas looked away from him, nodding slowly before turning back to look him in the eye. "Well…" she said. "You're half right."

Justin cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

A grin slowly crawled across Chas's face. "_We_ aren't going to die here. Just you."

And with that she suddenly let go of his arm, pulling away from him. Without her support, Justin crashed to his knees on the floor, crying out as pain shot through his mutilated left leg, like lightning wrapped in razor blades. Quivering from the shock, Justin slowly looked up. "Chas, what're you-?"

Chas looked down at him, her hands on her hips. She smiled darkly down at him. "It's your own fault, you know. Rory told you to stay awake. But you didn't listen… didn't even try! You just flopped down on your bed and instantly went to sleep as soon as you got home. You always were so completely stupid, Justin. It's why there's no way on earth we could have ever been together."

Despite his pain, Justin's breath caught in his throat, and his heart sank. "Wh-what? What're you?"

"Oh, please." She bent forward, her torn shirt slipping off her shoulder as she did. She put a hand gently on Justin's face. "Justin… I know how you felt about me, I've known all along. Thank God you never made a move, so I never had to laugh in your face. Or vomit, I'm not sure which. The only reason I ever came anywhere near you is because Rory was such a good friend and she seemed to like hanging out with you for whatever reason. That and the fact that Luke is oh so fucking gorgeous. It certainly wasn't because of that God damned, retarded sense of humor you thought you had."

Justin's agony was suddenly miles away. All he could feel was a cold emptiness just behind his ribcage. How could she be saying these things? At a time like this! It was the worst fucking possible time to-

A tremendous pain suddenly tore through his abdomen, just below his ribs. Crying out, Justin slowly looked down… to see four steel claws protruding from his gut. Freddy Krueger suddenly peered from over his right shoulder, his face inches from Justin's. He smiled.

"Forgot about me, didn't ya? Well, I didn't forget about you!" Freddy raised a boot to Justin's shoulder blades, just above where he'd rammed his claws into the boy's back, before kicking him off the blades, Chastity laughing as he did so. Justin fell forward, face down. He could feel gouts of blood pouring from the four wounds that tore through him, from his back to his front. Slowly, he rolled over, to look up at Freddy and Chas, who were both leering down at him. Freddy clapped his hands together, his ungloved hand thumping dully against the leather glove of the other.

"And the award for best supporting dream killer goes to…" Freddy paused momentarily, glancing at Chas, before finally shrugging and gesturing to her. "….whatever the fuck your name really is!"

And suddenly she changed. Justin's eyes widened as Chastity transformed… becoming a tall, raven haired, pale skinned young woman in a black Victorian dress. Her yellow, red-rimmed eyes gleamed malevolently, and she glanced up at Freddy, smiling. "Thank you, darling Frederick, thank you!" Her eyes flitted back down to Justin. "You poor, dear, soul. I really got you hook, line, and sinker, didn't I? I almost feel sorry for you. But, I suppose you did bring it upon yourself."

Justin stared up at her, and could only cough in response. Blood bubbled up like a wellspring from the back of his throat, spilling out of his mouth and down the side of his cheeks in great crimson streams.

Freddy nodded. "Yup. Pretty fucking stupid. Anyway… speaking of souls… it's about time we collect, don't ya think?"

Freddy dashed his claws across Justin's throat. A ragged wound instantly split open on Justin's neck, blood spurting and bubbling from within as he struggled and gasped for breath. His vision suddenly began to dim, and slowly but surely, his pain was fading with it. He watched as Freddy stood over him, his arms open wide, his head thrown back, his eyes closed. A sinister smile on his lips.

"Come to Freddy!"

The woman in black suddenly stepped up beside him. Her eyes began glowing yellow, and she spoke, her tone sharp and husky. "Insidium nox soulius ex demonto!"

Freddy's eyes popped open, and he shot the woman in black a glare. "What the fuck was-"

It was the last thing Justin ever heard or saw. His vision failed and he thought no more.

* * *

Kara stood in the corner of Rory's room near the door, leaning her head against the wall, her arms wrapped around herself. In the middle of the room, Luke sat on the edge of Rory's bed, listening to Rory, who was standing over him now, finish her insane story about the burned man with the steel claw and brown hat. A serial killer, named Freddy Krueger, who stalked nightmares and killed his victims while they dreamed. About how her dad had bought the Elm Street house haunted by him, and had found a diary in the house written by one of his victims, a mysterious girl who had also appeared to Rory in a dream. It all sounded like something out of a terribly over-convoluted horror film.

She was just getting to the end of telling him about the dream the two of them had shared, where Kara had hung over that nightmare machine, while Freddy made Rory choose whether she lived or died, when the doorbell rang.

"Thank God!" Rory started toward the door. "That must be Chas or Justin. I'll be right back." She left the room.

Kara and Luke sat in silence for a moment, Kara watching Luke, who stared at the floor, lost in thought. His expression was unreadable. After a moment, Kara cleared her throat.

"So," she said. "You, uh… believe any of that shit?"

Luke shook his head slowly. "I don't know. It sounds pretty crazy but…" he looked up at her. "That dream she said she had. About you, and this Freddy guy… she said you had it too. Did you?"

Kara looked away from him now. "Jesus, I don't know… fuck..."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't really a yes or a no."

Kara groaned in aggravation. "Yeah, I guess I fuckin' did, alright? What does that prove?"

Luke just continued to look at her. "That dream… was that why you… left class the way you did this morning."

She looked back up at him but said nothing. She didn't have to. The look in her eyes said everything.

Luke nodded slowly. "That would seem to give Rory's story some credence, wouldn't it?"

Before either of them could say anything else, Rory reentered the room…. Followed by Chastity. Chas paused as she saw Kara, a look of surprise crossing her face.

"Oh… hey there, uh…" Chas paused, trying to think of the right name, before finally giving up. "…you." She looked back and forth between Luke and Kara. "Wow… you two look like you just came from a funeral. All three of you kind of do, in fact." She glanced back at Rory. "So, what's this all about? And where's Justin?"

Without warning, Kara suddenly shrieked, as pain shot through her head, like a molten steel spike. Luke quickly stood, dashing over to Kara and catching her before she fell. Her eyes were scrunched shut, her teeth clenched, and she clutched at her temples. She shook violently in Luke's arms.

"Kara?" Rory took a step forward, but the other girl couldn't hear her.

Amidst the pain, Kara suddenly saw Justin, lying on a floor in the dark, a dirty, rotten wood paneled floor. His throat was slashed, the bones of his neck gleaming a vivid white amongst the torn red tissue and blood, his left arm and right leg mangled grotesquely. His eyes were wide, vacant and dead.

As the pain rocketed through Kara's skull and down her spine, the image faded… and she suddenly saw a beautiful young woman in white, standing in the center of the room behind Rory and Chas. The woman had long, bushy brown hair, with a shock of grey running through it. Luke, Rory, and Chas didn't seem to notice her. The woman looked at Kara, devastation in her eyes.

"Too late!" the woman moaned. "We're too late! He's back… his power is back!"

And with that the whole world went black.

* * *

Across town, in the bleak halls of Westin Hills, Maggie Burroughs was making her way toward her office, when she paused mid-step, as a chill suddenly shot down her spine. She pulled her white coat closer around the blue, knee length dress she wore. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

For a split second she thought she heard cackling. _His_ cackling…

* * *

In the same building, Lori Campbell was seated on her sleeping cot, her knees up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She rested her head on her knees, her eyelids heavy… when suddenly she heard the same cackling. Her eyes shot wide, and she glanced around her small cell, her heart thumping in her chest.

And she knew.

"Nine, ten…" she thumped her head against the cell wall with every syllable. "He's back again…"

* * *

**Author's note: **And lo, I have returned. I promise I'll try to keep the updates at a semi-regular pace from here on out. I also want to apologize for the length of this chapter. I know my chapters are usually terribly long and this one in particular is a beast, as it's nearly twice as long as some of those that came before it… but hopefully its length will make up for my absence! The next chapter shouldn't be too long from now, as I've already begun working on it.


	7. Daddy's Little Girl

**Author's note: **Gasp! Another update and it _hasn't_ been over a year? Oh frabjuous day!

I'd like to take the time to thank the reviewers of my last chapter (since I've neglected to do so up until now, being the big jerk that I am and whatnot.)

But thanks, of course, to Darkness Takes Over, my most dedicated reader, who's been with me since the beginning; sereneflower, whose enthusiasm over the chapters is an excellent motivator; and new comer, Artisan Monkey. Hope you guys are enjoying the ride so far, and hope you continue to do so! And now, without further ado, I give you part 7 of _Nightmare House_!

"**Daddy's Little Girl"**

"_Love and fear. Everything the father of a family says must inspire one or the other."_

_-Joseph Joubert_

_The Dream World…_

The back of the woman in black's head bounced off the rotting wood paneling of the hallway she and Freddy Krueger stood in, as Freddy gripped her by the throat with his left hand and slammed her into the wall once more. It was the third such impact, and as a result, the normally tight bun in her hair was beginning to come undone, loose strands of her sleek, black hair hanging down over her face. Despite the iron grip Krueger had on her throat, the woman in black still managed a smile.

"My, my but we do have a temper, don't we Frederick?"

"Shut the fuck up!" Freddy snarled, slamming her against the wall once again. Lying on the soiled red carpet nearby, amongst hundreds of shimmering broken mirror shards, was the cooling corpse of that spiky headed teenaged fuck, Justin Straub, that Freddy had just finished gutting. It had been a sweet, torturous kill, the first real kill he'd had in seven years. But he hadn't even gotten the chance to enjoy it, thanks to this snarky bitch in black that had been following him around lately. "I've put up with you hanging around in my dream world, 'cause you said you could make it worth my while. I even let you help me gut that little prick over there, 'cause I thought it might be fun to have an audience for once! But when you start horning in on _my_ souls, that's where I draw the fucking line!"

He slammed her head against the wall again. The woman in black simply chuckled once more in response. "I'm only borrowing it, darling. And I only took half."

Freddy snarled in her face. Just as Justin had croaked, Freddy had been standing over him, waiting for the blue, glowing orb of Justin's soul to rise from his lifeless corpse so Freddy could harvest it. As soon as his soul appeared, however, this bitch in black had muttered some fucking Latin phrase or whatever, and the orb had split into two smaller pieces, one going to Freddy while the other went to her.

"Oh? You only took half? Well, okay… then you'll only get half the claws!" Freddy thrust the first two blades of his clawed glove into her gut, just below the ribcage.

The woman in black gasped in pain, her expression of amusement momentarily replaced by one of surprise, before a smile slowly floated back onto her face. Thick, black blood began to ooze from her wound and trickle from her mouth. "You're being awfully silly about this whole thing. It was just one half of a measly soul. Your powers are obviously returning, otherwise you wouldn't have been able to harm that boy. I told you I want to help you and I meant it! But how am I supposed to do anything if I can't snag a soul or two for myself?"

"Not my problem!" Freddy hissed, twisting his claws in her gut, causing her to cry out again. "But you're right. Obviously my powers _are_ coming back. Which begs the question… why the fuck should I even keep you around anymore?"

The woman in black laughed despite her pain, her fetid blood turning her teeth black. "How many reasons would you like? Because you need me? Because I have just as much of a stake in the dream world as you do?" Suddenly, she vanished into thin air. Freddy snarled, glancing around in surprise, before hearing her voice from behind him. "Because you can't harm me any more than I can harm you?" Freddy wheeled around to face her. The woman in black stood in the center of the hallway, looking as if he'd never attacked her at all. Her hair was back in its bun, the wound in her stomach was gone. There was no trace of the blood that had been dribbling from her mouth. She smiled, broader than ever, at him. "Because I am your only chance for escaping this prison you've willingly occupied yourself in for the past forty two years."

Freddy scoffed, gesturing around himself. "Prison? You call this a prison? This is my domain, bitch! My _world_! I control everything here! I'm God!" With a wave of his claws, the floor suddenly began to shake violently. The wood paneled walls fell away, to reveal a vast, blood red sky overhead, streaked by heavy, pitch black clouds. The floor transformed, the carpet giving way to cracked, dry, bone-white earth. Justin's corpse remained. Freddy and the woman in black now stood near the ledge of a huge, steep cliff, overlooking a vast, dry wasteland, littered with bones. Freddy sneered at the woman. "See? Why the fuck would I want to give this up?"

"I'm not asking you to give anything up! And you are a fool," the woman snapped, her expression of amusement vanishing, replaced by a stone cold glare. "If you actually believe that this whole world we occupy exists solely to be bent to your whim. The Dreamscape existed long before you came along, Frederick. And it will endure long after you are gone!"

"I ain't ever gonna be gone!" Freddy snarled. "In case you ain't heard, I'm forever, bitch!"

"Promises, promises." The woman in black crossed her arms. "You know, Briareus, Cottus, and Gyges promised me the same thing. And in a way, I suppose they made good on their word… I have been here for centuries… stranded in limbo for the majority of my time notwithstanding."

Freddy's glare narrowed. "Briar-what? What the hell are you talking about?"

The woman in black raised an eyebrow. "Briareus, Cottus, and Gyges? Those names aren't familiar to you?" A grin slowly returned to her face. "You mean they never even bothered to introduce themselves to you?"

Freddy bared his teeth, clacking his claws together. "Ya know, I ain't really got the patients for all this vague, cryptic, bullshit you keep spewin'. Who the fuck are you talking about?"

The woman in black's lips parted in a toothy, yellow smile. "The Dream Demons, Frederick. I'm talking about the Dream Demons. The one's who gave you your power. Surely you remember them?"

Freddy's eyes widened. "You know the Dream Demons?"

"Of course I do. Better than you, it would seem. Isn't that interesting?"

Freddy arched a brow, his threatening tone lessening, and curiosity simmering just below the surface. "How do you know them?"

The woman in black turned to face the cliff's ledge, gazing out over the wasteland. A group of condors were circling in the blood red sky near them, probably attracted by the fresh corpse that had just arrived. "You might say I was an early applicant for the position you now occupy." The woman's amused expression faltered somewhat. "Needless to say, my application was rejected…"

Freddy's eyes narrowed now. "And what position is it that I occupy?"

The woman in black looked back at him now, raising an eyebrow herself. "Why… their agent, of course. Their avatar! The Dream Demons are no longer able to affect those who come into the Dream World themselves, unless those people willingly allow them to. And who is going to willingly allow monsters to take their souls? However, they found a loophole… if they could find a human who was willing to accept their powers, they could use _that_ human to sow their chaos for them! And that is where you come in!"

A smug grin formed on Krueger's face. "So, you weren't up to snuff, so they gave me the job instead, eh? Ha!"

The woman in black half shrugged. "That may well be, but were it not for my machinations, they never would have even noticed you in the first place."

Freddy's smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a sneer. "How do you figure?"

The woman in black waved a hand dismissively. "It's a long story, my dear. Let's just say the land where your precious house stands was once my land. And through certain… rituals I performed, the land was marked in a way that caught the Dream Demons' attention. It's no coincidence that your life, as well as your present existence, has always revolved around that house. You were drawn to it since the beginning."

Freddy mused over this momentarily, absently clacking his claws together. Something about what this woman was saying made sense. He had always had a connection to the house. It was the only thing he could cling to when he lost his powers, the only thing standing between him and being sucked into hell. Even after his defeat at the hands of his daughter, over ten years ago, after the Dream Demons had stopped resurrecting him, he had managed to cling to his own existence within 1428, to kill that bitch, Lori's mother before the town had gotten wise to him.

And even after his battle with Jason, Freddy's most utter defeat, as much as he hated to admit it, he'd still managed to respawn back in 1428… powerless though he was…

There was something about 1428 Elm that kept him going.

He glanced up at the woman now, who smiled at him as if she knew what he was thinking. "So, what are you then? Some kinda witch, or sorceress or something?"

The woman nodded slowly. "Yes. Or something. I am very well versed in the black arts, as I'm sure you noticed with that little soul division spell I cast. That wasn't something I learned in the Dream World." Freddy's face soured again when she mentioned her taking of half the soul he'd earned, but she put up a hand before he could say anything. "Yes, Frederick, you've made it abundantly clear that my taking that soul upset you, but what's done is done. I need some power too if I'm going to help you, and it's not like you would've just handed it over had I asked."

"You keep sayin' you can help me!" Freddy sneered, his patience wearing thin. "Free me from my prison or whatever? What exactly is it you plan to do!"

"I have a spell book, back in the real world." The woman replied, crossing her arms. Near them a condor had finally lighted on the ground, and was casually pecking at one of Justin's gaping, glassy, dead eyes. "One that enabled me to open a doorway between the world of the living and the land of dreams. It was how I communed with the Dream Demons in the first place. Back then, of course, being a living human being, I wasn't able to cross through it, and, being pure spirits of the Dream World, the Demons weren't able to either. However… you and I now occupy a unique position of not being wholly just dream apparitions, but also not being true humans either, in that we can cross from one or the other… as you've done many times."

Freddy sneered again. "Yeah, trust me… the real world's a fuckin' bitch. I prefer it here! I don't see how going back there is in my best interests!"

The woman in black shook her head. "You misunderstand me. My goal isn't to cast us out of the Dream World. It's to give us the ability to pass back and forth between the Waking World and the Dream World at will! We alone, as products of both realms, can achieve this, Frederick, don't you see?" Freddy's eyes grew as the ramifications of what the woman in black was saying began to sink in. Noticing this, the woman's smile broadened. "Can you imagine it? No longer having to concoct overly convoluted schemes to spread your name, because you could _personally do so yourself_! And when any of the idiots who opposed you tried to drag you from the Dream World, you could simply cross right back over! And think about how powerful you've become in the past, when you've taken enough souls! Even from the Dream World, you've managed to warp reality. Imagine crossing over into the Waking World and bringing your powers _with_ you! You'd be utterly unstoppable!"

A wicked and hungry gleam began to burn in Freddy's ever growing eyes at what this woman was saying. "You can do all of this?"

The woman in black crossed her arms, her smile turning into a haughty smirk. "Of course I can. But in order to do the casting, I have to be strong enough. Which means you're going to have to share some souls!"

Freddy, clacked his claws together absently as he thought about this. As much as he hated sharing anything with anyone, especially the spoils of his precious kills… really, what did he have to lose? He'd already become strong enough to kill again, and that was really all that mattered. True, he couldn't hurt this bitch, but didn't that mean that she couldn't hurt him either? If she could, wouldn't she have tried to take the souls from him by force by now? And if she could really do what she said she could…

The woman in black seemed to notice that Freddy was finally giving her proposal some serious thought, so she continued. "The only obstacle to this plan, however, is I need my spell book. And I need someone to prepare the incantations and ceremonies in the real world, while I do the casting here. This is where the plan will get… complicated."

Freddy rubbed the dull side of his index blade against his chin thoughtfully. "Where is this spell book?"

"Buried with the man who took it from me," The woman in black spat, a scowl forming on her face. "In a church graveyard. Hallowed ground, where we can't follow."

"So what you're saying," Freddy mused. "Is that we need some kinda fuckin' rube in the real world to do our dirty work for us."

The woman in black nodded. "It would seem so."

A dark grin slowly crawled across Freddy's face. An idea was forming. "I think I know just the stooge."

* * *

_The real world… that same evening…_

"I don't know about this, Dr. Burroughs."

Maggie sighed as she sat behind her desk, rummaging through a drawer. She looked up at Jonathan, who was standing near the door to her office. The young, dark haired, orderly had his black framed glasses off, and was polishing them on the hem of his white shirt for what must've been the twentieth time. It was a habit he had when he was nervous, and it was a little irritating.

"It's not that complicated, Jonathan," Maggie said, finally finding what she was looking for in the drawer, before closing it and moving to where Jonathan stood. She handed the orderly two small vials of liquid, one pink and the other clear. Then she moved over to a small cabinet on the left side of the room, opening it and withdrawing two syringes. She turned back to Jonathan, handing him the syringes as well, before gesturing at the vial of pink liquid he already held. "That is thiopental. It'll put me under. The other is adrenaline. It'll bring me back. As an orderly, you should already know what all this stuff does."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean, Dr. Burroughs. If what you're telling me is true… that… _he_ is back… why in the hell would you want to go and find him?"

Maggie walked to the other side of the room, taking a seat at the couch on the wall opposite her medicine cabinet. "Because I have to find out what he's up to."

"What he's up to?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "You know what he's up to! What he's _always_ up to! He's a psychotic killer! His modus operandi isn't that complicated!"

"Then why hasn't he started killing yet?" Maggie asked simply. This gave Jonathan pause, so Maggie continued. "He doesn't have enough power yet. But I'm sure he has a plan, he always does. I intend to find out what it is before he hurts anyone."

Jonathan crossed his arms. "Before he hurts Lori, you mean."

Maggie sighed. Jonathan had been talking to Dr. Campbell recently, it seemed. "She was the one who stopped him last time. It makes sense that she'd be his first target."

Jonathan shook his head. "You certainly are protective of her."

Maggie shrugged. "She's a good person. It's not her fault what's happened to her."

"Yeah," Jonathan's voice was very unsympathetic. "I'll remember that the next time she tries to break my arm for trying to get her to take her medication."

Maggie looked up at him. She was growing impatient. "So, I'll assume by the fact that you're still here that you intend to help me. Otherwise this is just a waste of time."

"That's another thing!" Jonathan went on. "Why me? Of all the people you could've asked to help you, why me? Why not Dr. Campbell?"

"Dr. Campbell took today off," replied Maggie. "He's at home. And even if he wasn't, I still wouldn't ask him. He'd never agree to do it. If he knew I thought Krueger was coming back he'd just flip out and up everybody's Hypnocil dosages. Hell, he'd probably try to convince the sheriff to start dumping Hypnocil in the town water supply. But Hypnocil isn't going to fix the problem, it never does. And you're one of the only orderlies I trust around here."

Jonathan didn't seem to notice Maggie's compliment, instead inhaling sharply when she mentioned Krueger's name. Maggie inwardly sighed in annoyance. Everyone was so afraid of Krueger around here; they refused to say his name. As if just uttering "Freddy Krueger" might somehow summon him. It wasn't really much of a surprise he kept coming back, with fear like that to draw from.

"Well, let's say he _does _have some big plan." Jonathan said, breaking Maggie's train of thought. "What's to say he's going to tell you about it?"

"Believe me, he will," Maggie shook her head. "If there's one thing Freddy Krueger is, it's arrogant. And he's incredibly boastful. He'll tell me all about it because he'll think I can't stop him."

Jonathan gave her a quizzical look. "You act like you've encountered him before." Maggie looked up at him and said nothing. Jonathan's eyes widened. "You _have_, haven't you?"

Maggie sighed. "It's a long story, okay Jonathan? Look, can we just get on with this?"

"What if you're wrong!" Jonathan's voice was growing somewhat frantic. "What if he has grown strong enough! What if he tries to kill you?"

"Trust me, he won't. Not me. Not yet." Maggie gestured to the vials Jonathan held. "Besides, that's why you're here. If I look like I'm in trouble, you jab me with the adrenaline."

Jonathan bit his lip, a look of uncertainty weighing heavily on his face. "I am so not okay with this on so many levels."

Maggie looked him in the eye. "This could mean the difference between life and death for a lot of kids, Jonathan."

That seemed to do it, which was another one of the reasons Maggie had asked Jonathan to help her. She knew he was one of the few orderlies that actually gave a damn about the kids around here. He sighed, before nodding his head. "Fine… but if Dr. Campbell finds out about this-"

"He won't find out." Maggie cut him off. "You just let me worry about Dr. Campbell, alright?"

Jonathan nodded again, before grabbing one of the plastic chairs that was positioned in front of Maggie's desk and dragging it over to the couch where Maggie sat. He took a seat on the chair and placed the vial of adrenaline and one of the syringes on the floor, before using the other syringe to draw out a dose of the pink tranquilizer. Maggie, meanwhile, kicked off her high heels, and swung her legs onto the couch, before leaning her head back against the arm rest. She gave Jonathan her arm.

Jonathan gave her a pleading look. "Last chance to back out of this incredibly insane idea of yours?"

Maggie shook her head. "No can do. Besides, we haven't even discussed the idea that maybe he's not even back. Maybe I'm just being paranoid."

Jonathan gave her a hopeful look. "You think so?"

"No, I'm pretty positive he's back. But he might not be."

"That makes me feel a lot better, Dr. Burroughs, thank you."

Maggie smiled up at him. "I'll be fine Jonathan. Besides, I trust you. I know you'll pull me out if something goes wrong."

Jonathan rolled back the sleeve of the arm she offered him. "Well, I'm glad one of us is so confident." He looked at her one last time. She nodded to him, and Jonathan slid the needle into her arm, pushing down the plunger.

Maggie winced slightly. Now I lay me down to sleep, she thought, closing her eyes. The Master of Dreams my soul to keep…

The Master of Dreams? Where had _that_ come from? Who was…?

Before she could dwell any more deeply on the subject, Maggie slipped into the void of unconsciousness.

* * *

The sky had turned the deep purple of dusk as the white van pulled up to the curb in front of the line of quaint, two story brick townhouses on Maple Street, Springwood. The townhouses were all crammed together, looking so identical and cookie-cutter that it was kind of unsettling. Each had a large, concrete porch with six, steps. Each had a little space with a rose garden to the left and right of each porch. The rose gardens themselves were lined with large, football sized, landscaping rocks. Lisa Clifton put the van in park and cut the engine before glancing out the windshield, squinting at the address on the door of the nearest town house. She glanced back down at the open folder on her lap, brushing her long black hair out of her face.

"This is it," she said. "1500 Maple Street, townhouse 14. The home of one Dr. Roy Campbell."

Kyle Stark leaned in from the cargo area of the van, where he was getting his camera equipment ready. "You mean Dr. Father-Of-Hot-And-Crazy-Chick?"

Lisa rolled her eyes sighing deeply. "Yes. Exactly. Dr. Father-Of-Hot-And-Crazy-Chick. Make sure you call him that to his face."

Kyle chuckled before returning to the back, loading a fresh DV into his camcorder. "You'd better watch it with that sarcasm. One of these days I'm likely to take it literally."

"Good," Lisa glanced back at him, a humorless smile on her face. "I'd love it if you called him that. It would make my life to watch him punch you in the mouth. Especially if we caught it on film."

"I fall deeper in love with you all the time, ya know that, Lis?"

"Whatever." Lisa growled. After "borrowing" Lori Campbell's records from Springwood High, Lisa and Kyle had spent the entire day driving around the town hoping to stumble across where Dr. Campbell's place of residence was. All they had to go on was the address they'd found in the phone book. The GPS was totally out of date, as Springwood had nearly doubled in size since the last record the GPS had on the town, so it was completely useless. And Lisa refused to stop and ask for directions, not wanting to leave any trail whatsoever that could possibly be followed by, say, the police. She'd been about to give up when, just as the sun went down, they'd passed Maple Street, purely by chance. Lisa had promptly turned the van around and, voila! Here they were.

Lisa twisted in her seat now so that she could look directly at Kyle, his backward red ball cap and matching red t-shirt still bright in the growing darkness. "Now, I'm only going to say this once. Let me do-"

"Let you do all the talking, I know," Kyle sighed, zipping his camcorder case shut, and velcroing the camcorder itself to his hand. "Jesus. You should tattoo that phrase to your forehead, it'd save us both a lot of time."

"Well, I want to make sure!" Lisa countered. "You're always fucking horsing around on camera and we cannot, and I mean, _cannot_ afford any fuckups with this one. This guy is our first major live lead. He's the last person to reside at 1428 Elm Street! He moved out just weeks after his daughter murdered her boyfriend in that house! Not only that, he's also the head doctor at Westin Hills, where Lori Campbell is incarcerated!" She held up the folder. "Between the police report in here, and Lori's permanent record identifying him as her father and confirming their residence in 2003 at 1428 Elm, he can't deny any of it! Kyle… what the hell are you doing?"

Kyle had the camcorder up to his eye, and had, since around Lisa saying something about no fuckups. "Getting this on film. It's good shit."

Lisa paused, a bit surprised by this. She ran a hand through her hair. "Is the lighting good? Do I look okay?"

"You look as radiant and viper-like as you always do, Lis."

Lisa sneered. "Whatever. Let's just do this."

"Ready when you are, mon capitaine!"

Lisa opened the driver's side door and hopped out. Kyle exited out the back doors, and they both met up at the van's rear, before walking up the concrete walkway and six stone steps leading up to townhouse 14's front porch. Lisa paused in front of the red front door to run a hand through her hair one last time, before looking at Kyle.

"Make sure I'm in focus."

"Got it."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Am I in focus?"

"Christ, Lisa! Yes, you're in fucking focus!"

Lisa shot him one last glare before rapping sharply on the door. For a long moment there was silence.

"Dude's not home?" Kyle quipped.

As if on cue, the front porch light suddenly came on and the door opened. Behind it stood Dr. Campbell. Tall, grey haired, his face hard-lined, wide-eyed, and looking drawn and somewhat haggard, he looked exactly like the photo Lisa had of him in the folder she now held in her hands. He wore a blue, button-down oxford shirt, and khakis. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

He looked back and forth between Lisa and Kyle, his eyes narrowing slightly as they fell on the camera Kyle held. For a long moment, he was silent. Finally, he spoke. "Is there something I can help you with?

"Dr. Roy Campbell?" Lisa asked.

Dr. Campbell nodded slowly. "Yes. I've had a long week, so I hope you'll forgive me for being so to the point when I say, what do you want?"

A wicked smile crawled across Lisa's face. "The truth, Dr. Campbell. The truth."

Dr. Campbell furrowed his brow in confusion. "The truth? About what? Who are you people?"

"About your daughter, Dr. Campbell." Lisa said, ignoring Dr. Campbell's question. "About 1428 Elm Street. And about a man named Freddy Krueger."

* * *

Maggie awoke to the feeling of wet grass against her face. She was lying face down on the ground. For a good long moment she was completely disoriented before slowly it all came back to her.

She'd put herself to sleep in an attempt to find her father, leaving Jonathan to watch over her body in the waking world. She was in the Dream World now…

She slowly climbed to her feet looking down at herself. She was wearing an extremely short, flower-patterned pink dress, like the kind a little girl would wear. Her hair was tied into pigtails by two red ribbons. She wore thigh-high white stockings and black ballet flats. She sighed deeply, cursing under her breath. She looked like the ideal date for someone with a creepy, Alice in Wonderland fetish. She glanced around herself now.

Just as she'd suspected. She was in the back yard of 1428 Elm Street, the house she'd lived in as a child. The grass was brown, dead, and damp, as if it'd just been rained on. A full moon shone in the sky directly overhead, the stars blinking cold and innumerable in the vast, blackness. Behind her, looming over the yard like a malevolent monolith was the old Springwood water tower. Its outer shell was rusted and pitted with dents. One of its four stilt-like legs was bent inward, the entire tower leaning dangerously toward the yard.

The Elm Street house itself loomed in front of her. Most of its windows were smashed, its siding covered in a greenish, grime. Its back door hung awkwardly on its hinges looking as though it were ready to fall off. The green storm doors, leading directly down into the cellar were wide open, a sinister, flickering orange light glowing from within.

Maggie sighed again, unimpressed with Krueger's haunted house theatrics.

"Yeah, real ominous, Krueger," Maggie called, loud enough for anyone who might be down in the basement listening to hear. She crossed her arms. "I'm not one of your scared teenagers. I'm not going to aimlessly wander around until you decide to jump out and scare me. You want me, you come out here and get me."

Freddy's dark chuckle resonated from all around her in response. "Is that any way to talk to your old man, Katherine? Fine. Have it your way. You don't wanna come inside, you can stay out there with _them_."

Maggie raised an eyebrow. Them? Who was he talking about?

The storm doors suddenly slammed shut with a loud bang, startling Maggie out of her train of thought. She furrowed her brow, taking a step forward. What was that maniac up to now?

"Kaaaaatherriiiiine?"

Maggie suddenly froze, her eyes bulging wide at the voice that wafted from behind her. It was a voice she recognized from long ago, from the memory of a former life she had once managed to purge from her mind until the confrontation with her father eleven years ago managed to bring it all screaming back. It was a voice that made a lump form in her throat, that made her heart thud so hard and fast that she could feel the blood shooting through her veins with every beat.

Maggie turned to confront the owner of the voice, her eyes tearing up, her voice cracking as she spoke. "Mom…?"

What was left of Loretta Krueger stood at the base of the very tree beneath which Freddy had throttled her to death all those many years ago. The sight of her made Maggie cry out in horror.

She wore the same white dress, with the rose and vine pattern on it that she'd been wearing that day, the last time Maggie had seen her, though it was now tattered and caked with mud. She was impossibly thin, her now brown, shriveled, and decaying skin stretched over nothing but bone. Her face was barely more than a skull, with scraps of brown skin, dangling here and there, her teeth exposed in a permanent, hideous grin, her eyes and nose completely gone. Her auburn hair remained, though it was clumped and streaked with dirt and dried blood. She shambled slowly toward Maggie, dirt and maggots falling in clumps from her dress with every step. She looked, in short, like she had just clawed her way out of her own grave.

"Darling Katherine," the Corpse Loretta cooed. "You've grown up to be so pretty! I've missed yoooooou…" slowly, she raised her rotting arms, reaching out for her daughter. "Come nooooow… give mommy a kiss!" her mouth creaked open and her tongue lolled out, swollen, grey, and limp.

Maggie backed away nearly stumbling as she did so. Gone was her bravado and disdain, replaced with abject terror. Behind her she suddenly heard the soft singing of children. She glanced over her shoulder.

Three little girls in white dresses stood behind her, near the back door of the house. Two of the little girls held a jump rope, spinning it while the third jumped. They were small, blonde, and pale. They glanced over at Maggie, meeting her gaze, and smiling eerily at her, their black eyes boring into hers as they sang in unison.

"One, two, Daddy's coming for you…"

A hand suddenly clamped down on Maggie's shoulder, and she yelped, spinning on her heel, and expecting to come face to face with her zombified mother. Instead, it was a round-faced teenaged blonde girl in a white night gown. The girl's long hair cascaded to her shoulders, her bangs ending just above her eyebrows.

Every inch of her skin was charred, burnt, and bleeding.

"I am one of his children now," said the shade of Kristen Parker. "He made me into his child. And he'll make you one too."

Another hand grabbed Maggie by her other arm. Turning her head she moaned in horror, as she recognized who was holding her by the wrist.

It was another teenager, this one a boy, a young Hispanic man, with longish black hair. He wore a denim jacket, black t-shirt and blue jeans. A grotesque and demonic, oversized hearing aid was burrowed into the left side of his head, completely engulfing his ear.

Blood ran from Carlos's eyes, nose, and mouth as he spoke. "But you're already one of his children, aren't you, Maggie? You always have been, since the day you were born!"

Another hand suddenly grabbed Maggie by the collar of her dress, spinning her around. Before her stood yet another teenager, this one she didn't recognize. He was tall, and looked as though he may have been very handsome at one time. He had neatly combed, brown hair, broad shoulders, and wore a Springwood High Letterman's jacket over a blue t-shirt and blue jeans. His head was bent at an akward angle, and a hideous gash ran the length of his forehead, his entire face a mask of blood.

Dan Jordan grinned at Maggie as he spoke. "His blood courses through your veins. You're special, Maggie. Whether you like it or not, you belong to him!"

"You belong to him!" Carlos and Kristen chanted along with Dan. "You belong to him! You belong to him!"

And suddenly there were more of them. More hideously, grievously wounded teenagers and children, even a few adults. Among them, Maggie saw a muscular, teenaged, black boy in a sleeveless grey t-shirt and jeans, with a bleeding wound in his stomach. A skinny, teenaged, girl with a short, blonde bob cut, wearing nothing but a pair of white panties, four deep, obviously fatal slash marks running between her breasts and down her stomach. An older man, balding, wearing a security guard's uniform, a gigantic gash in his chest pouring blood. More and more, hordes of them now. Some of them seemed to appear from nowhere, others clawing their way out of the ground, like the living dead. The Corpse Loretta was back with them too, chanting along with them all, leading the charge of Freddy's past victims as they all began creeping toward Maggie.

"You belong to him! You belong to him! YOU BELONG TO HIM!"

Maggie couldn't take it anymore. She pushed past Carlos, Kristen, and Dan and ran to the storm doors leading into the basement. She grabbed the handles and tugged.

The doors didn't budge.

"What the fuck!" Maggie screamed, verging on hysteria. "You win, Krueger! I want in! Let me in!"

Maggie heard Krueger's demonic laughter from the other side of the door. "You didn't say the magic word, Kitty Kat!"

Maggie growled. She could hear the corpses gaining on her, still chanting "You belong to him!"

"Please, God dammit!" she howled.

From behind the storm doors, she heard Krueger sigh. "Please what?"

"Please…" Maggie made a face, before finally spitting. "Dad."

"Dad? You can do better than that. C'mon, Katherine… who's… your…?"

"DADDY!" Maggie shrieked as she felt the corpses beginning to claw at her dress. "FOR FUCK'S SAKE, LET ME IN, DADDY, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Maggie heard a clunk, as the storm doors were unlocked. Wasting no time, she ripped them open, dove into the basement, and pulled the doors shut behind her. She had just enough time to catch one last glimpse of Kristen Parker's face, as the scorched and burnt blonde grinned wickedly at her and hissed. "YOU'RE HIS!"

Then the storm doors shut with a clang, and Maggie was plunged into darkness.

For a long moment, all was silent. The oppressive blackness seemed to almost bore down on Maggie like a physical weight. The air was thick and humid and smelled of mildew and rot.

Suddenly, there was a soft "cla-click" and a dim, yellow light spilled into the room. The source was a single, bulb, hanging from the ceiling by a cable, the chain dangling from it swinging as if someone had just pulled it… but no one else was around.

The basement of 1428 Elm Street was exactly as Maggie remembered it.

The slate grey walls, the concrete floor. In the corner was a cold, black furnace. The stairs leading up to the first floor were rotted through, splintered, and broken. Just above Maggie's head ran several metal pipes, most rusted and full of holes.

And then Maggie saw _it_ and she froze.

On the basement wall, to the left of the storm door steps, at the foot of which she stood.

The rotten, wooden door that led to _the room_.

His special room.

Images came back to her from childhood, of her father always gently, but firmly ordering her to stay away from the locked door in the basement where he did his "special work." She remembered it vividly. She even remembered the time, after dinner, about a week after she had turned six, when her mother had become fed up and demanded to know what her father kept in there. The two had argued, bellowing at the top of their lungs into all hours of the night. Maggie had fallen asleep that night, sobbing, as the sound of her parents arguing continued rattling through the house.

The next morning she had woken up to mommy looking like hell with a black eye. Mommy had just fallen down, that was all. That was what Maggie had been told.

Maggie's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a latchkey turning. Slowly, the door leading to her father's special room creaked open of its own accord. A dim, flickering orange light, as if cast by a flame, spilled out from the opening.

Maggie stared at the ajar door for a long moment before speaking. She tried to sound stern, but there was an audible waver in her voice. "Krueger?"

No response.

Slowly Maggie stepped toward the door. It was clear Krueger wasn't going to show himself unless she played his game. She tried to reassure herself of several things; Krueger wouldn't want to kill her this early on, he'd want to make it fun; even if he did want to kill her, there was no way he'd have the power yet; even if she _was_ in danger, Jonathan would wake her if something went awry.

Slowly, Maggie reached out and grabbed the doors handle, before pulling it open and stepping inside.

The room looked just as she'd remembered it. She'd only been in there once before in her entire life, when she was six years old, but the image had been burned into her mind permanently. The grime covered, concrete walls. The metal shelves that covered three of these walls, loaded with various weapons of torture, an assortment of jars with contents too gruesome to think about… and those gloves. There must've been a half a dozen of them hanging from hooks on the side of the shelf directly across from the door. Some with steel spikes on the knuckles, some with jagged fish hooks on the fingertips… and then of course the classic, his favorite. The razor claw glove.

The one bare wall of the room was covered in newspaper clippings of articles with headlines like "Elm Street Child Goes Missing," "Springwood Gripped in Terror," "Child Killer Still At Large", "The Springwood Slasher Strikes Again!"

A fire crackled and popped within the steel, cast iron furnace in the far corner of the room, providing the only source of light. The flickering glow illuminated another object in the center of the room, one Maggie didn't remember from the last time she was here. It was a long, wooden work bench. There appeared to be something on top of it, something big, but it was obscured by a black sheet. Whatever it was, it was about the size and shape of a human body.

Maggie's eyes narrowed. She knew how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to creep over and slowly remove the sheet… and Krueger would be there to jump out at her. It was all so stupid and predictable! Her previous fear beginning to fade, Maggie marched over to the bench.

"Alright, enough of this! Come on out, Krueger." Maggie ripped the sheet away… and promptly screamed.

It wasn't Krueger that lay beneath the sheet. It was the mangled corpse of a teenaged boy. The boy had spiky black hair and was wearing a grey t-shirt and faded blue jeans. The right pant leg of his jeans below the knee was completely torn away, his right leg a shredded mass of blood, torn muscle, and bone. His left arm had a deep, and grievous cut in it, going all the way down to the bone. His throat was slashed from ear to ear, the wound gaping, white bone gleaming within the ragged mess. A look of sheer terror was locked on the boy's face, his glazed eyes gaping wide in shock.

Maggie backed away from the table, her eyes wide with terror. It couldn't be! This had to be a trick! He couldn't be killing already!

The dead boy suddenly, gasped, inhaling raggedly, blood bubbling from the wound in his throat. With a sickening cracking sound, he turned his head to look at Maggie, his glazed eyes staring blankly at her.

"Don't worry, Katherine." The boy's voice was raspy, barely a whisper. "I won't tell him you were in his special room. I won't tell! I won't tell!"

Maggie continued backing toward the door when another voice suddenly rose up behind her. _His_ voice.

"But you did tell, Katherine," said Freddy Krueger. "And here we are."

Maggie wheeled around to face him. He stood just behind her, leaning up against the now closed door to the room, has arms crossed. He grinned at her. "Ya know… it never really occurred to me before… but things may not have turned out the way they did for me had you not tattled on me like you did."

Maggie struggled to keep her heart rate under control. In as firm a voice as she could muster, she replied. "You got what you deserved."

Freddy chuckled nodding. "God-like power. Immortality. Unlimited access to my children. You're damn right I did. And so did the brats on Elm Street. All of them. For the past four decades." His face fell into a dark glare slowly. "Well… minus the past seven years or so… but that's already beginning to change." He pointed a claw at the corpse of the boy on the table. "As you can see."

Maggie shook her head emphatically. "That's not real. You're just trying to trick me. To scare me so you can draw from my fear."

"That what I'm doing?" Freddy cackled. "Well, it must be working! You're rank with fear, Kitty Kat." Freddy took a deep breath. "And lemme tell ya… it smells good!"

Maggie knew he was telling the truth. Despite what she'd been saying, what she'd been trying to convince herself of, she was deeply terrified right now. She'd known he was back, she'd had no doubt… but still, actually seeing him face to face again, after all these years… it was something she couldn't have prepared herself for.

"So how ya been, Kitty Kat?" Krueger pushed away from the door and began creeping toward Maggie, who continued backing away from him. He eyed her up and down lecherously in her short dress. "You've held up well, considering you're pushin' 50."

Maggie moved quickly now, putting the work table between herself and Freddy. "And yet you keep insisting on infantilizing me by putting me in these ridiculous outfits."

Freddy shrugged as he reached the table opposite Maggie. He placed his hands on the ledge, leering at her. "Hey, you don't like the dress… you're more than welcome to take it off!"

Maggie scrunched up her face in revulsion. "You're disgusting."

And suddenly, Krueger disappeared, before reappearing from nowhere, directly behind Maggie. He put his hands on her shoulders, breathing hotly into her ear. "You say such sweet things about your old man."

Maggie quickly squirmed out of his grasp, skittering to the other side of the table. Freddy made no attempts to stop her, merely chuckling low in response.

"So how'd you do it," Maggie said, her whole body tensed. "How'd you come back this time?"

Krueger raised a brow at that. "This time? Whaddya mean this time? I came back the same way I always fuckin' do! The pussies in this town can't stop pissing themselves thinking about me. Buncha idiot brats come wandering into my house. Some moron lets my name slip. Bada bing, bada boom." He spread his arms. "Heeere's Freddy!"

Maggie's eyes flitted to the corpse on the table between them before darting back to her father. "And you expect me to believe that you're already strong enough to kill?"

Krueger shrugged. "I don't give a shit what you believe, bitch. You don't have to believe it to be afraid of it! But the fact of the matter is its true! This town is obsessed with me! It's built upon its fear of me! All ya have to do is mention my name to the right person and whammo! My batteries are fully charged!"

"If that's true… then what are you waiting for? Why haven't you swept over the town like a wave yet?"

Krueger chuckled. "Oh, I've tried that before. Tearing through the brats like a meat grinder is fun, but unfortunately, that's what's always gotten me caught in the past. This time though… this time I wanna come back for keeps! So I play it subtle for a while. I got big plans this time, Kitty Kat! Big plans!"

This was it. This was what Maggie had come here for! She just had to keep him talking. "Plans? As I recall you've had big plans many times in the past. It's never stopped you from being beaten before."

Krueger's grin broadened. "Playing field's a whole lot different now than it was before. I got friends in high places now."

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "You mean the Dream Demons?"

Freddy waved a dismissive claw. "Fuck those guys. They haven't been any help since you blew them outta me ten years ago. No, I got someone a whole lot different than them this time."

"Who?"

Freddy cackled, waggling a claw at her. "Ah ah ah! That would be telling, Kitty Kat. But let's just say that plans are being set into motion. All I have to do now is gather a few more souls. And find a pair of hands to work for me on the other side."

Maggie furrowed her brow. "The other side?"

Freddy nodded. "The waking world. Your world."

Maggie's eyes widened. "So, that's why you appeared to me! You're going to try to rope me into joining you again! Well, you can forget it! I told you before I-"

Without warning, Krueger suddenly flipped the workbench between them over, tossing it and the corpse upon it across the room. Gone was his smirk, replaced with a malevolent glare. His eyes had gone from their usual cold blue to a fiery, glowing red. "You? You think I'm trying to get _you_ to join me again? You had your chance, you filthy, worthless, ungrateful, whore! Twice, you've betrayed me! I was nothing but a perfect father to you when you were a girl. I didn't give a shit about anyone else my life… my mother, my idiot wife… but you! You I genuinely cared about! And what did I fucking get for it? You ratted me out! You set a mob upon me to burn me alive! And then, when I came back to you, you fucking gutted me before blowing me to hell!"

Clearly, Maggie had hit some kind of nerve, one she wasn't even aware was there, but had obviously been bubbling just below the surface. Freddy was bellowing at the top of his lungs, and suddenly his image began to blur. Maggie's eyes widened and she stumbled back as Krueger underwent a transformation.

His mottled and burned skin turned a blood red, and Maggie could see the heat coming off it in waves as he stalked toward her. His face became more angular, his ears pointed, his hooked nose more pronounced. As he snarled at her, she could see his teeth had changed from jagged and rotten to long and vicious, pointed fangs. His eyes became a deeply veined, blood red color. Maggie could feel the temperature rising, becoming unbearably hot. The rotten egg smell of sulfur filled her nose. And Maggie suddenly knew that she was seeing, for the first time, what Freddy Krueger had truly become.

Flames suddenly shot out of the furnace in the corner igniting the whole room. The floor, the shelves, everything was ablaze. As Maggie continued backing away from what Freddy had transformed into, she felt her back come into contact with the door. Before she could even try to open it, the Demon Freddy was upon her, slamming his clawed hand against the door, keeping her from escaping.

"No, I have someone very different in mind to play my patsy. But don't worry, Katherine. I've made room in my plans for you too." Freddy's voice had become deeper, even more inhuman and guttural now. Thick, black drool ran down his chin as he spoke. His demonic face was inches from Maggie's; the heat from his rancid breath was almost overwhelming as it washed over her. "Oh, such plans. The things I will do to you will be so exquisitely unspeakable." Freddy's vile, fang filled mouth stretched into an evil grin. His long, forked tongue slid out to lick his lips. "But not before I've taken everything from you. Everything you hold dear. Those brats at the asylum. That idiotic bitch, Lori. I will make you watch as I kill them all. I will destroy your life! And then, I will destroy you!"

Maggie was almost beyond speech. She'd never seen Krueger like this before. He'd seemed so hammy and over-the-top the last time she'd encountered him. Evil, yes… but nothing like this!

"Wh-what are you?" She finally managed to eke out.

Krueger chuckled before suddenly, his left hand shot out, clamping around her throat. Gasping, Maggie was lifted off her feet.

"I am eternal!" Freddy replied. "I am God! And you, my useless fucking cunt of a daughter… are DAMNED!"

Freddy raised his clawed hand to strike…

* * *

…When Maggie suddenly shot awake, sitting up stock straight on the couch she'd fallen asleep on in her office, gasping for breath. Her heart was pounding harder and faster than it ever had before. Jesus Christ! She'd almost died! And suddenly, she was so awake. God, she couldn't calm down.

Dimly, she was aware of the syringe sticking out of her chest.

Standing above her, looking almost as terrified as she felt, was Jonathan, the plastic chair he'd been sitting in knocked on its side next to him. "I didn't know what else to do! You were thrashing around and gasping like you were choking, so I just… I jabbed you with the adrenaline!"

Maggie slowly reached up, grabbing the syringe before pulling it out of her chest with a gasp. Breathing heavily, she glanced up at the young orderly. "No. You did good. You did exactly what you were supposed to, thank you."

"Are you okay?"

Maggie nodded. "Yeah. At least I will be."

Jonathan hesitated before finally asking. "Well… is… is he-?"

"Yes." Maggie nodded again, cutting him off. "He's back alright. Freddy Krueger is back." She looked up at Jonathan, her expression desperate. "And I think we're all in a lot of trouble."

* * *

A cold feeling settled in the pit of Kyle's stomach as he recognized the look forming on Lisa's face. It was a look he'd seen before; one that meant she was very well aware that she was rattling a hornet's nest and she was very interested in seeing just how many of the stingy little fuckers she could piss off.

And from the looks of it, she was doing a pretty good job of really pissing this particular hornet off. Dr. Campbell's jaw had dropped in surprise as soon as Lisa had name dropped that Krueger guy right out of the gate. But slowly, as she launched into her accusatory speech about the murders at 1428 Elm Street dating back into the eighties, up to the clandestine conspiracy to cover up Springwood's massive youth death toll in the nineties and beyond, Campbell's look had morphed from one of shock, into one of barely restrained rage. At this point, his nostrils were flared, he was breathing quite heavily, and his face had turned a bright red.

"…until 2003, when your daughter _murdered_ her boyfriend, Will Rollins, in her bedroom." Lisa was wrapping up her speech as the three of them stood, still outside on Dr. Campbell's front porch, her tone venomous, a dark glare on her face. She was either completely oblivious or choosing to ignore Dr. Campbell's obviously growing anger. "In _your _house at the time! 1428 Elm Street! The place where all this chaos has revolved around since the beginning! Now, I'm dying to know… what exactly do you have to say in response to all of this?"

Dr. Campbell's voice was low, quiet, and threatening as he replied. "Who else have you mentioned that name to in this town?"

Lisa raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the question. Out of everything she had just said, _that_ was what interested him the most? "Excuse me?"

Campbell's arm suddenly shot out, his hand clamping roughly around her elbow as he snarled, through clenched teeth. "Fred Krueger! Who else have you mentioned that name to?"

Kyle lowered the camera now. This was quickly going to get out of control if someone didn't try to calm this guy down. "The principal at the high school," he said. "Robert Shea."

Dr. Campbell's wide eyes flashed over to Kyle momentarily before returning to Lisa. The rage Kyle saw reflected in them was alarming.

"Who else?" the older man demanded. "The students! Did any of the students hear you mentioning Krueger?"

Despite Dr. Campbell's sudden outburst, and despite still being caught in his iron grip, Lisa managed one of her snarky, infuriating smiles. "Did any of the students at the high school hear me mentioning the name of the serial killer that murdered every child in Springwood during the nineties? The serial killer that you and your co-conspirators have tried to cover up for the past four decades? You're Goddamn right they did! A whole crowd of them! The name's out there now, Campbell! You can't bury the truth forever!"

Campbell suddenly snarled and threw his hands around Lisa's throat. Lisa tried to cry out in shock, but Campbell's chokehold had cut off her windpipe completely, and she barely managed a squeak. Her eyes bulged, and her face quickly turned red, as Dr. Campbell squeezed.

"You ignorant fucking moron!" he bellowed. "You've killed them! You've killed them all!"

"What the hell?" Kyle dropped his camera, and lunged for Dr. Campbell, grabbing him by the wrists and trying to pry his hands off Lisa's throat.

Dr. Campbell suddenly released Lisa, who fell to her knees gasping for breath, before he wheeled on Kyle and in one fluid motion, punched him square in the jaw. Kyle staggered back, reeling, before his waist hit the wrought iron railing of the porch, and he tumbled over the side, falling and landing awkwardly on his back in the rose garden below, his head bouncing off one of the landscaping rocks with a sickening thud. He didn't get up.

"Oh my God!" Lisa rasped before staggering to her feet and dashing down the stairs. Dr. Campbell blinked, as if coming out of a trance, before the horror of what he'd just down slowly dawned on him, and his eyes went wide. He ran down the steps too, and crouched down next to Lisa, who was kneeling by Kyle, his head in her lap. Kyle's eyes were closed, and he wasn't moving. Dr. Campbell noticed that the rock Kyle had fallen on was now smeared with blood. A crimson stream was now running from the back of his head, down Lisa's bare legs.

Lisa spoke, her voice uncharacteristically panicky. "Look what you've done!" She looked up at Dr. Campbell, who could only stare back at her in horror. "You've killed him!"

* * *

**Author's note: **Ooo, gotta love those cliffhangers! Please R&R!


	8. Waking Dream

"**Waking Dream"**

"_There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."_

_-Hamlet, Act I Scene 5_

_Summer, 2010. Two months ago…_

As she sat, shivering and naked in the dark in her room at Westin Hills, her bare back pressed against the cool metal of the door, her knees drawn up to her breasts, Kara Murphy knew what rock bottom was.

Her clothes – the standard issue sweatpants and sweatshirt combo at Westin – sat in a discarded pile in the middle of the room before her. Rain slashed at the barred window, and thunder rumbled deeply in the distance. Lightning flashed, illuminating momentarily, what was an otherwise pitch black night outside.

It had been two days since they had moved her from her maximum security, padded cell, to this much nicer, minimum security room. The door was still made of steel and locked every night and the window on the opposite wall still had bars, but at least she _had _a window now, and the walls and floor were no longer padded. The floor was, in fact, a nice cool concrete, which felt great against her bare ass at the moment.

She was still going through pretty severe withdrawals from her heroin addiction. Her body was burning up from the inside, and she was drenched in sweat. Which was why she had stripped off all of her clothes. But she was also shivering violently, her teeth chattering, her skin covered in goose bumps, her nipples stiff and erect. She felt like she was both freezing to death and burning alive at the same time.

But she was still thankful for her current coherence. She lifted her arms and glanced momentarily at her wrists, which were heavily gauzed and bandaged. In her previous state of delirium, when she was faced with the same symptoms, she'd violently torn all of her clothes off (like, literally shredded them) and when that hadn't cooled her down sufficiently, she dug into her wrists with her nails and tried to peel her skin off as well. Luckily Jonathan, one of the friendlier orderlies had caught her and managed to stop her before she'd gone too far. Kara let out a shuddering sigh, as she let her arms drop back to the floor. So now she would have some really gnarly looking wrist scars to go along with her track marks. She was going to look like a real fucking basket case when she got out of here.

News flash, she thought to herself. You _are _a fucking basket case. Look at yourself. You're seventeen, for Christ's sake, and you've already sunk about as low as a person _can_ sink without actually dying in a gutter. It's past midnight and you're naked on the floor in a nuthouse. You're like one of those heroines in a trashy, Victorian romance novel, except you're not here unjustly. And there's no handsome, English lord waiting on the outside to take you away from all of this.

No. Instead, who did she have waiting for her on the outside? Her parents for one, who had wanted less and less to do with her since she'd grown out of grade school and become a teenager; who hadn't said a word to her after finding her stash. They just threw her in the car and took her up here to Westin. It had all happened so quickly. It was almost as if they'd just been waiting for an excuse to dump their daughter off at the mental institution (hell, of course they had.) As if now, they could officially stop pretending she was their daughter now. She thought she remembered a time when they really loved her and were proud of her. She was, maybe, 6 at the time?

Then there were her dirt bag "friends", Molly and Tyler, who'd gotten her hooked on the shit in the first place and had cut and run as soon as she'd been caught. Neither one of them really gave a shit about her. Molly just wanted someone she could bitch at and push around, and Tyler was just hell bent on finding someone he could get into a three-way with him and Molly. Being hooked on something was like a rite of passage or a requirement of membership into their deranged little group.

Jesus Christ, the berating little voice in the back of her head rose up again. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, louder this time. Listen to you. Boo hoo, nobody loves me, so I'm gonna feel sorry for myself and get fucked up on drugs. Tyler and Molly didn't shove the pills down your throat, or force the needles into her arms. You did that all on your fuckin' own.

The truth was, the drugs were an attempt to fill the emptiness. She wasn't bitter, or angry, or raging against anything. Her aloof act wasn't an act. Kara just couldn't find any point to it all. She couldn't find any meaning. She didn't give a shit about her parents, just as they didn't give a shit about her. She didn't give a shit about her friends. About school, about her future. As far as she was concerned, she had no future. She supposed one might ascribe the title of nihilist to her, but she was too apathetic to even go that far. She used the drugs in an attempt to feel something. Something other than emptiness.

But that wasn't entirely true, was it? Emptiness wasn't all she felt. She felt fear. The fact that she'd nearly killed herself by ripping out her wrists a mere few days ago terrified her. Despite her emptiness, death wasn't an alternative. Death horrified her. The ultimate void. The ultimate emptiness.

There were other things that scared her too. Sleep was near the top of the list lately. Kara had never been a vivid dreamer. She had in fact stopped dreaming altogether around the time she turned 13. Or at least, she stopped remembering her dreams. She knew she still dreamt, because she would occasionally awake, with a start, feeling terrified, her heart racing… but never remembering why. It wasn't a common enough occurrence to really concern her. To, lose sleep over, hardee har har. But it did happen.

But that had changed since she came to Westin. Since she started having her withdrawals. Whatever meds they had given her to calm her down when she first got here had produced some vivid and trippy fucking shit. The only things she remembered from her first days of delirium were the dreams.

In one, she'd found herself in the middle of the woods, in a pitch black night. Surrounding her, interspersed with the trees, were shrouded figures, holding torches. Chanting in some language she'd never heard before.

In another, she'd found herself standing on a dock, at the edge of a lake. A full moon shone brightly in the sky above her. She'd see a shimmering woman, dressed in flowing white, walking over the waves toward her, point at something, trying to speak, but Kara could never make out what she was saying.

The last was the most recurring and most deeply unsettling. Mostly so, because Kara felt she was awake, was _sure_ she was awake when it happened. She'd find herself lying in her cot in her padded room, the only light filtering in through the tiny window on the iron door. She'd try to move but she couldn't. Her arms were paralyzed at her side. Then, in the corner of the room, some_thing_ would appear. She could never make it out; it was always shrouded in darkness. But it was a huge, hulking black shape. And it was topped with two fiery, blood-red eyes. Unbridled terror would overtake her, but she would always be unable to scream. The hulking thing would slowly begin shambling toward her until it stood directly over her, filled her vision with nothing but its blackness and those two, horrible eyes.

Then she would feel an intense pressure on her chest, followed by an icy feeling directly around her heart that began slowly closing in as if some frozen talon had taken hold of it and was squeezing the life out of her. The shadowy thing would chortle darkly and gutturally, before muttering something she didn't understand.

Kara shuddered violently just thinking about it. It was why she wouldn't try to sleep now. The thought of seeing that thing again absolutely terrified her.

Dr. Campbell, the head psychiatrist of the facility, and the doctor assigned to care for Kara, had told her that what she'd seen was nothing to be afraid of. It was simply a somewhat rare occurrence known as hypnagogia, While it wasn't fully understood, what was known about it was that it occurred when the body was in a strange state on the threshold of wakefulness and being asleep. It included such things as sleep paralysis, a sensation of pressure on the chest, and hallucination. Kara's symptoms were probably amplified by her withdrawals. It was where the medieval concept of the Succubus had come from, but for all intents and purposes, it was harmless.

"What you had is commonly referred to as a waking dream." Dr. Campbell had explained to her in his office two days before, when evaluating whether or not she was fit to move into minimum security. "Supposedly, waking dreams were what inspired Bram Stoker to write _Dracula _and Mary Shelley to write _Frankenstein_."

"Fascinating." Kara had been sitting in the chair on the opposite side of where he sat at his desk, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. "There anyway to make sure it doesn't happen again?"

Dr. Campbell smiled at her dry response. "I would assume that as your withdrawals lessen, so too will the waking dreams. You'll just have to wait them out. They're no more dangerous than normal dreams."

It had seemed strange at the time and still did to Kara when she thought about it. When she'd first walked into Dr. Campbell's office that day and he'd asked her how she was doing, she'd almost immediately brought up the dreams. They really bothered her, so she wanted to make sure he knew about them. Instantly, he'd grown super concerned about the whole thing, asking her all these questions about her dreams. Did she wake up with any injuries, was there a certain man she saw in her dreams that scared her, did he ever say anything to her, etc. After she'd explained what she had seen in her dreams, a look of relief had crossed Dr. Campbell's face, and he instantly became dismissive.

"The dream about the black shape might represent a fear of the dark. Are you afraid of the dark, Kara?" he'd asked her.

Fuck yes, she was afraid of the dark. It'd been a phobia she'd had since she was a kid, and she'd slept with a nightlight until the eighth grade as a result. She'd managed to cope with it for the most part as of late, but this shadow monster waking dream was probably going to set her back a few steps. Dr. Campbell seemed to think that pinpointing the cause of the dream alone would make her feel better. It didn't.

"I assure you, Kara," Dr. Campbell had concluded their session with. "What you saw was just a dream. And dreams cannot hurt you."

Kara sighed now, and slowly slid all the way on the ground to her side, before curling up into a fetal position. She just wanted this all to be over. She just wanted to get out of here. The best incentive for kicking the drugs she was on was not to come back to this fucking place. She sighed as she lay on the ground, letting the coolness of the concrete seep into her bare body.

She had a feeling she wasn't going to sleep soundly again for a good, long, while.

* * *

_Fall 2010. Now…_

Rory was too shocked at first to react. She and Chastity Hill had just entered her bedroom, where Luke Morley and Kara Murphy were waiting for them, when out of nowhere Kara had suddenly let out a piercing shriek and fallen backward. Were it not for Luke's deftness in crossing the room and catching her, Kara would have collapsed to the floor in a heap. After writhing around in his arms for a moment, Kara had completely passed out. Luke had just managed to lower her to the floor, resting her head in his lap, when Chastity suddenly spoke up.

"What the fuck was _that_?!" Chastity had a hand on her chest, her eyes bulging.

"I don't know," was Rory's weak response. She looked to Luke. "Is she alright?"

Luke looked down at Kara, before looking back up at Rory. "I dunno. She's breathing at least?"

Chastity suddenly gasped. "Did she just O.D.? Was that an O.D.?!"

"Rory?" Rory cringed as she heard her dad's voice calling from downstairs. "What's going on up there?"

"Uh, nothing dad!" Rory quickly moved over to the partially opened door. "Uhhh… Chas just saw a spider! That's all!"

Chastity's eyes suddenly narrowed to slits. "What? Hey!"

Rory hushed her with a quick movement of her hand. There was a pause before her dad finally spoke again.

"Okay. Jesus. Tell her to control herself. It sounded like one of you was dying."

"Alright! Sorry, dad!" Rory quickly shut the door.

"Um, what the hell?" Chastity crossed her arms. "Why aren't we telling your dad about the junkie who just had a fit in the middle of your room?"

Rory pulled out her cell phone and began scanning through the contacts. "This has nothing to do with drugs, Chas. She wasn't high."

"And you know that how?"

Luke looked up from where he knelt with Kara. "She was fine, Chas."

Chas wheeled on him now. "How do you _know_? I mean, look at her!"

Luke furrowed his brow. "Wow, that's nice."

Chas rolled her eyes. "Oh, please! We all know it! Why the hell is she even here anyway? What's this all about?"

Rory suddenly put her hand over Chastity's mouth. She had dialed her phone and held it up to her ear with her free hand. Chastity glowered at her.

"Who're you calling?" Luke asked.

Rory held up a silencing finger, taking her hand away from Chastity, who huffed and turned away from her. After several seconds, Rory sighed and flipped her phone shut. "Dammit. He's not answering!"

Luke raised his eyebrows. "Justin?"

Rory nodded.

Chastity turned back to her, and shrugged. "You realize he's probably asleep, right? He goes home and takes those, like, two hour little baby naps after school every day since stays up all night playing video games."

Rory and Luke exchanged uneasy glances. Chastity glanced back and forth between the two of them. "Alright, clearly you guys are leaving me way out of the loop on something. Seriously, what's going on here?"

Before either of them could respond, Kara suddenly sat bolt upright with a sharp intake of breath, her eyes bulging. She instantly began frantically looking around, her body shaking all over, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" Luke put his hands on her shoulders. "Kara, calm down! You're okay!"

Kara glanced back at him for a moment, before suddenly slumping forward, burying her face in her hands. She began sobbing hysterically. "Oh, God!"

Not knowing what else to do, Luke gently placed a hand on her back, looking up at Rory and Chas quizzically. Chas's previously indignant look had turned to one of confusion and pity. Finally, Rory took a step forward. "Kara, are you-?"

Kara suddenly looked up at her. Her black eyeliner ran down her face in streams, mixing with her tears. A look of sheer terror was on her face. "He got him! Your friend Justin… I think he's dead!"

* * *

The first thing Kyle Stark became aware of when he regained consciousness was that the back of his head hurt like hell. The second was that he had no idea where he was.

He was lying on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling. An old fluorescent light flickered and buzzed above him, illuminating the room with its sterile, white light. It was a small room, maybe twenty by twenty feet. The walls were covered with dirty, green ceramic tiles; the floor appeared to be bare concrete. Kyle tried to sit up, but couldn't. Glancing down at himself, he saw that he was lying on some kind of metal table or gurney. His wrists and ankles were bound to the table by thick, leather straps.

"What the fuck?" Kyle glanced around the room, grimacing in pain; the throbbing in the back of his head flared up as he turned his neck. What the fuck had happened? How had he gotten here? Where _was _he? The last thing he remembered was being in the van with Lisa, heading to that Campbell dude's house to interview him. Everything went fuzzy after that.

A soft moaning suddenly broke his train of thought, and Kyle's eyes flitted over to the far corner of the room. There, seated in a grimy looking, steel chair was a girl, about his age, maybe a little older. Her wrists too were bound to the chairs arms. She was dressed in a white sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her head was pitched forward, her long, tangled mass of blonde hair hanging in front of her face, obscuring her features.

Kyle's heart began thumping in his chest. There was definitely something very wrong with this picture. He'd heard about some psycho up north who would kidnap people, lock them up together and force them to play some sick game where they had to kill each other or cut off body parts to escape or something like that. Was that what was going on here? If that was the case, where was he? What had happened to Lisa? Who was this chick locked in the room with him?

As if in answer to his thoughts, the girl in the chair groaned again, and slowly lifted her head. Her hair fell away from her face and Kyle's eyes widened as he recognized her from Lisa's police file. Slowly, Lori Campbell's eyes flitted open and an expression of utter bewilderment formed on her face.

"Wha-what's going on? Where am I?" Lori tried to get out of her chair, but of course couldn't. Her eyes snapped wide open as she realized she was bound. "What is this? What's happening?!"

"Holy crap!" Kyle said. "I know you! You're hot and crazy chick!"

Lori's eyes met Kyle's for the first time. "Who the fuck are you?"

Kyle raised an eyebrow at her bluntness. "Um, I'm Kyle Stark. I came to Springwood to…" he trailed off. Maybe it would be better if he didn't let the wild-eyed, genuinely insane girl in on everything. "Uh, to shoot a film project for school with a friend of mine. Last thing I remember was being in the van with her… then everything goes kind of hazy, and suddenly I'm here and my head hurts like fuck. You?"

Lori slowly shook her head. "I don't know, I… I was in my room at Westin. I was really tired and I think I must've dozed off and…" suddenly her eyes snapped wide again, and look of horrified realization dawned on her face. "Oh… oh no. Oh God no!" Lori began violently struggling against her restraints now.

Now Kyle's eyes widened. Holy shit, this chick was freaking out! She really was nuts. "Whoa, lady, calm down! What is it, what's the matter?!"

"It can't be him!" Lori shrieked, still thrashing against the straps holding her down. "It can't be! He's dead! He's dead because I killed him!" she threw her head back and howled in a mixture of fury and fear. "I KILLED YOU, YOU BASTARD! I KILLED YOU!"

Kyle swallowed hard. Lisa's file had said this Lori chick had killed her boyfriend. Was that who she was yelling at now? Of all the people for him to get kidnapped and locked up with, it had to be the crazy girl that yelled at her dead boyfriend, didn't it? Her dead boyfriend that _she _killed. Just his fucking luck.

A sudden, metallic screech jarred Kyle from his thoughts as a large, rusty metal door in the wall opposite from Lori that Kyle hadn't even noticed before creaked slowly open and two figures stepped into the room.

And Kyle's feeling of unease doubled.

The first was a woman. Tall, thin, and pale skinned, she was wearing a high-necked, long sleeved, old fashioned looking black dress that matched her ebony hair, which was kept up in a tight bun. Her red-rimmed, sickly yellow eyes bored down on Kyle's, and dark grin crept up on her face as she saw him.

The figure behind her was mostly concealed by the outfit he wore. He was dressed in a deep, red surgical gown, complete with cap and mask. He wore a white apron over the gown, which was spattered with blood. There was something wrong with the man's skin, too. Kyle couldn't see most of it, but he could see the skin around the man's eyes, above his mask and below the surgical cap. The skin was mottled and scarred, like he'd been horribly burned. The man's cold, blue eyes had a gleeful glint to them, but that didn't make Kyle feel any better. Before him, the surgical man pushed a metal cart that clattered as it rolled. The top of the cart was littered with rusty and archaic looking surgical instruments. Kyle's heart began thumping in his chest as the two figures drew near.

"Sorry I'm late, kiddos!" Freddy Krueger cackled behind the mask that he wore. "The doctor is now in!"

* * *

Denise Taylor had been on the tail end of a long and grueling 14 hour shift, when the emergency call had come through about a head trauma victim at 1500 Maple Street. It never failed that in the last hour or so of a shift, when she desperately wished things would wind down, one last call would come through that would force her to work overtime and usually a lot of it. But, such was the life of an Emergency Medical Technician. She knew that when she'd gotten her certificate from Springwood Community two years ago, and she'd known it for between 40 and 80 hours a week every week since. She'd seen a lot of strange shit in her time as an EMT, responded to a lot of bizarre injuries and fatalities. Springwood seemed to be a magnet for them and, in her own weird way, Denise had gotten used to them.

What she didn't ever get used to, however, were the usually frantic and otherwise difficult people who insisted on accompanying the injured during the ambulance ride to Springwood General Hospital and, in the process, usually wound up getting in the way.

Take the two that had accompanied Kyle Stark, the aforementioned head trauma victim. One Denise already knew. Dr. Roy Campbell. He did some advisory work at Springwood General, where he used to work himself, before he transferred full time to Westin Hills, the nuthouse on the outskirts of town. Dr. Campbell had always made Denise a bit uneasy. He always had a strange, wild-eyed intensity just behind his calm exterior.

The other… well, the other was almost scarier. She'd been in a state of fury when Denise and her partner, Jamal Wallace, had arrived on the scene. She'd been screaming that Dr. Campbell had attacked her and Kyle and was responsible for the rather serious wound on the back of Kyle's head that had knocked him unconscious. Judging by the bruises she had on her neck, there might be some credence to her story, which would mean Dr. Campbell was very possibly in serious trouble. The girl… Lisa, Denise thought she had said… insisted on riding along with them in the ambulance. Dr. Campbell had wordlessly followed them, and Lisa had tried to physically force him out. Denise had managed to pull Lisa off of the doctor and sit her down, before closing the ambulance doors and telling Jamal to floor it to Springwood General. She didn't have time to deal with Dr. Campbell and Lisa, this Kyle guy was in seriously bad shape and needed to get more help than she or Jamal could provide, ASAP. If that meant that Campbell and Lisa had to come along for the ride, as annoying as that might be, well, then so be it.

Denise was currently taking Kyle's blood pressure. He'd been bleeding pretty badly when they'd arrived on the scene. They'd basically managed to bandage up his head, place him on a gurney, and load him into the back of the ambulance, which was where he was laying now. Denise had to make sure he hadn't lost too much blood.

Seated in the back of the ambulance with them, on the bench to Kyle's right, was Lisa. Her arms were crossed and she was glaring hotly at Dr. Campbell, who was seated on the bench to Kyle's left, staring off into space. He looked like he was in shock.

"You are so fucking going down for this, asshole," Lisa rasped. "Two counts of attempted fucking murder. And if anything happens to Kyle-"

"Look, I'm sorry!" Dr. Campbell said, his eyes snapping up to meet Lisa's. "I didn't mean to react the way I did, I… I actually can't believe what I did. But you have no idea what you've done! How many lives you've put in danger by carelessly tossing that… that _name_ around this town!"

"You're sorry? You're fucking _sorry_?! Oh, well that makes everything all better!" Lisa glared at Campbell darkly before suddenly looking up at Denise. "Freddy Krueger. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Denise sighed deeply. Great, they were going to try to get her involved in this. She brushed a strand of her red hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ear. "Doesn't ring a bell. Should it?"

Lisa's eyes dropped back down to Dr. Campbell. "I dunno. Must be pretty important if it's worth murdering someone over."

Dr. Campbell's face slowly began to sour into a glare. "You don't understand anything! It's for your own good that you know as little as possible about this whole situation! It's for _everyone's_ good! But you've opened the floodgates! You mentioned that name at the High School! There's no telling what's going to happen now!"

"Your little conspiracy cover up is going to see the light of day, that's what's going to happen now!" Lisa retorted. "And you and everyone else that's been responsible for covering up decades worth of murders are going to burn!"

Denise shook her head as she finished up checking Kyle's blood pressure and withdrew her penlight, to check the dilation of his eyes. These two were worse than a soap opera. She didn't know what Lisa meant about covering up murders, but the girl seemed batshit to Denise, so she didn't take what she said too seriously. Denise gently pulled back Kyle's left eyelid and shone her penlight in his eye. Kyle's rapidly twitching eye greeted her. Denise furrowed her brow. "What the hell?"

Dr. Campbell looked up at her. "What? What is it?"

Denise shone the light in Kyle's eye again, just to be sure. "It looks like he's entered REM stage sleep. But he's not sleeping, he's out cold! That doesn't make any sense…"

Dr. Campbell's eyes widened. "REM stage?" He quickly glanced over at Lisa. "Your friend… he knew as much about Krueger as you did?"

Lisa arched an eyebrow at him suspiciously. "Yeah…"

Dr. Campbell suddenly wheeled on Denise, grabbing her by the shoulders and causing her to yelp in shock. There was an edge of panic in his voice as he spoke. "Listen to me. You have to find a way to wake this young man up right now, or he is going to die!"

* * *

Kyle swallowed hard as Freddy wheeled the cart of medical instruments up next to him. Littering the top of the cart were scalpels, clamps, a bone saw, and what looked like hand drill. All were rusty and archaic looking. The woman in black swept around him to the other side of the table, so that she and Freddy stood on either side of Kyle, looking down at him.

"The prognosis ain't looking so hot!" Freddy chuckled.

"You can't be here!" Lori suddenly shrieked from where she sat, strapped to the chair. "You can't be!"

Freddy turned to her, waggling a finger. "Now now… if you're going to stay to observe the surgery, you have to be quiet so Dr. Freddy can concentrate!"

Kyle's eyes widened. "Surgery?"

"Nurse!" Freddy barked, suddenly wheeling toward the woman in black. "Check the boy's driver's license! We need to find out if he's an organ donor!"

The woman in black arched an eyebrow at that. "I have no idea what any of that means."

"Dammit, nurse!" Freddy suddenly slammed his hand down on the cart full of instruments, causing Kyle to yelp in surprise. "Well, there's no time now. We have to get those organs out while they're still fresh!" Freddy glanced down at Kyle and winked. "'Fraid we'll have to forgo the anesthetic, my boy. Time is of the essence!"

"Listen, you don't have to do this…" Kyle stammered. He had no idea what was happening, but this freaky, mangled guy in the Dr. Giggles outfit was talking about removing his organs.

Freddy cackled in response. "'Course I don't have to! It wouldn't be any fun if I _had _to! I _choose_ to! I like my work! Nurse! Scalpel!"

The woman in black paused glancing down at the cart, which was right next to Freddy, much closer to him than she was to it, before sighing, reaching across Kyle, picking up one of the scalpels off the cart, and handing it to Freddy.

Freddy paused, glancing at the small blade at the end of the scalpel. "What the fuck is this?"

The woman in black raised her eyebrows. "That's a scalpel, doctor."

"This puny thing? Feh!" Krueger threw the scalpel over his shoulder, before brandishing his right hand for the first time. The wicked looking claws that protruded from the fingers of the leather glove he wore on that hand gleamed in the sickly white light of the fluorescent bulb. "I'll use the ol' standby!"

"Oh God," Kyle began to panic now, thrashing futilely against the straps that held him. "Oh God! Stop!"

"Leave him alone!" Lori shrieked impotently from across the room.

"Ah, it won't be so bad." Freddy waved Lori off. "It's only going to hurt for a while." Freddy glanced back over to Kyle. "Well… probably a pretty long while. And it's probably going to hurt really bad. Now… where should we begin?"

"I..." Kyle stammered. "I…I…"

"The eyes! Good choice! Always a favorite." Freddy drew his claw up. "Let the dissection commence!"

"Ah," the woman in black raised a finger. "Actually, doctor, if the subject is still alive during the procedure I believe it's called vivisection."

Freddy shrugged. "Fuckin' whatever. Tomato, tomahto."

And with that, he plunged his claws toward Kyle's eyes.

* * *

Back in the ambulance, Dr. Campbell frantically turned his attention back to the unconscious Kyle. "We have to wake him up!"

"We _can't_ wake him up!" Lisa snarled. "You fucking put him in a coma!"

It must finally be sinking in just how much shit he's gotten himself into, Denise thought to herself. She reached over, placing a hand on Dr. Campbell's shoulder. In as soothing a tone as possible, she spoke. "We're almost to the hospital, doctor. He'll be getting all the help he needs there."

Campbell shrugged her hand off, the hysteria in his voice mounting. "You don't understand! He doesn't have that time! If we don't wake him up, stop him from _dreaming_, he'll-"

"I think you're a bit too personally involved in this situation to be making any rational decisions right now." Denise interrupted. She was beginning to lose patience.

Dr. Campbell suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders, his hysteria instantly replaced with anger. "And I think you need to shut up and listen to what I'm trying to tell you! That young man is going to-"

Without warning, Lisa suddenly let out a piercing shriek.

Dr. Campbell and Denise quickly turned back to her and Kyle… and what they saw nearly stopped Denise's heart.

Lisa was standing now, and had recoiled as far against the wall of the ambulance as she possibly could, a look of mindless terror wracking her face as she stared down at Kyle.

Kyle's eyes were gone. His eyelids had collapsed into their sockets, and were quickly turning a deep shade of purple. Blood was pouring from them and down the side of his face like thick, crimson tears. Still unconscious, Kyle began to shake his head and moan.

"What the fuck?!" Denise breathed.

"Oh, Christ," Dr. Campbell moaned. "We're too late!"

* * *

Kyle screamed in abject agony, blood rolling down his face in rivulets from his now ragged and empty eye sockets. "Oh Jesus, oh fuck, oh God, OH FUCK!"

Freddy cackled, turning to Lori. He waggled Kyle's severed eyeballs, now dangling by their torn and bloody nerve endings from the index and middle claws of his glove. "Here's lookin' at you, bitch! HAW HAHAHAHAHA!"

"You bastard!" Lori screamed, struggling against her restraints. "You fucking monster!"

"Oh, stop! You're making me blush!" With his left hand, Freddy plucked the two eyeballs from his glove before tossing them in the air and catching them in his mouth. "Mmm!" he crooned, chewing. "I love a cream filling!"

Lori gagged loudly at the sight. The woman in black, meanwhile, regarded Kyle with a grin as he continued to scream and curse in pain. "My, my. Listen to him."

"Yeah," Freddy finished chewing before swallowing hard. "Got quite the fuckin' potty mouth on him, don't he? Well, we can take care of that." Freddy turned to the tray of medical instruments, picking up a pair of clamps. "Open wide!"

The woman in black smiled before grabbing Kyle by the jaw and forcing his mouth open. Freddy started chuckling low as he stepped toward him.

Lori began thrashing in her chair even harder. "Oh, God! STOP THIS!"

* * *

Denise hastily covered Kyle's eye sockets with gauze, trying to stifle the blood flow. This was fucking impossible! His eyes were gone! They hadn't come out of his head, they hadn't ruptured in their sockets, they just… weren't there! It didn't make any sense.

"What the hell's going on back there?" Her partner, Jamal, called from the cab of the ambulance.

"I… I don't know, but this situation's gotten much worse." Denise's head was swimming. How could she even begin to explain this to Jamal? "Just get us to Springwood General as fast as possible!"

"Hang tight, we're almost there!" Jamal replied.

"His eyes!" Lisa was still standing, still pulled into a corner as far away from Kyle as she could get. The aggressiveness had completely left her as she stood, shaking and wide eyed. "Jesus Christ, what happened to his eyes?!"

Denise did her best to shut out Lisa's frantic questions. The fact was if she thought about it too much, _she_ was going to start freaking out as well. Next to Denise, Dr. Campbell sat quietly. His previously panicked expression had been replaced by one of calm but grim acceptance. Finally he looked up at Lisa. "You did this. This is all _your_ fault! You insisted on letting the demon out of the bottle, and now your friend is paying the consequences." He looked down at Kyle. "We're all going to pay the consequences."

Without warning, Kyle, still unconscious, began suddenly heaving and choking. His mouth fell open and blood suddenly bubbled up from within, dribbling down his cheeks and chin.

Now it was Denise's turn to recoil. "Dear Christ, his tongue! His tongue is missing!"

Dr. Campbell just continued to watch in bleak silence.

* * *

Lori Campbell was sobbing. She hadn't wanted to believe it, even though she knew deep down, that Freddy Krueger was coming back. She'd known ever since that strange almost-dream she'd had a few weeks back that she'd told Maggie about.

But nothing could have prepared her for this. For actually seeing his face, hearing his voice. And watching him do what he had done to that poor man in the red baseball cap. Lori didn't even know who he was! Why was he here?! Was Freddy torturing him to death just to torture _her_? Why torture him at all? She was the one Freddy wanted… wasn't she?

The young man continued to convulse and struggle on the table he was strapped too, his screams stifled by the gouts of blood flowing from his mouth. After several more long moments of choking, gurgling, and retching, he finally laid still. After another moment of silence, a glowing, blue ball of light suddenly shot out of the young man's corpse, before splitting in two. One half melded into Freddy's chest, the other went to the strange woman in black who stood across the table from him. Who the hell was she anyway?

Freddy finally turned to Lori. Even though she couldn't see his mouth through the surgical mask he wore, she could tell by the look of demented glee in his eyes that he was smiling broadly. He held up the clamp he had used to rip out the man on the table's tongue. The muscle hung from the instrument, limp, torn, and bleeding, tendrils of shredded tissue dangling from where it had once been attached to its owner's throat. "Hey, bitch! Hold thy tongue!"

With that, Freddy tossed the tongue at her. It landed with a thick, wet smack in her lap, coming to rest on her right thigh. Lori screamed, bucking in her chair, and knocking the tongue to the floor. It left a sticky, red stain on her white sweat pants. Lori's sobbing began anew as Freddy started walking toward her chuckling. He pulled the surgical mask off, his mouth stretched wide in a rotten-toothed grin.

"Ya know, Lori, out of all the old faces I've seen and new friends I've made since I came back, you are the one I'm most happy to see." Freddy stopped, standing mere feet in front of her now. "Ya know why?"

Lori looked away from him. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how scared she was. "Go to hell."

Freddy suddenly grabbed a fistful of her blonde hair, and yanked her head back so that she was looking him directly in the eye. "Because out of all the fucking idiots who've gotten away from me, I regret you the most! I've been beaten before but you and your idiotic friends were pathetic! Possibly the most pathetic bunch of fuckin' losers I've ever been up against! There was no reason you should've beaten me and you _wouldn't _have, had you not tricked that lumbering, rotten, brain dead freak into playing guard dog!" Freddy's face, which had slowly twisted into an enraged sneer during his rant, suddenly reverted to a devious grin. "Fortunately, though, we've been given a second chance to tango. So I can make up for my embarrassing little mistake."

Lori glared up at him defiantly. "If you're going to kill me, quit talking about it and just fucking do it!"

Freddy chuckled, waggling a clawed finger in her face. "Ah ah ah. You don't get off that easy. I've got a lot of fun in store for you before I finally put you out of my misery!"

With that, Freddy finally released his grip on her hair and walked back over to where Kyle's corpse lay, cooling on the table. Using his claws, he slit the front of Kyle's t-shirt down the middle, exposing his chest and stomach.

"Haven't you done enough to him?! He's already dead!" Lori cried.

Freddy chortled. "Every great artist signs his masterpieces." With that, Freddy made several deep slash marks on Kyle's stomach. Lori couldn't see from where she sat, but it looked like Freddy was writing something. When he finally finished, Freddy nodded, before turning back to Lori. "Now scamper on back to the real world, Lori. Make sure ya tell your old man I said hey!" Cackling, he flicked his claws at her…

* * *

Lori sat up screaming in her cot at Westin Hills. She didn't stop screaming for a very long time.

* * *

In the back of the ambulance, Kyle's gagging and retching finally came to a shuddering halt. Denise had tried three times to clear his throat of the blood that he was drowning on but it was to no avail. She couldn't get the bleeding to stop. As Kyle lay unmoving on the gurney, Denise slowly reached over, placing her fingers on his throat, checking for a pulse. After a moment she shook her head. Lisa slowly slumped back down onto the bench, a look of utter emptiness on her face. Without warning, she suddenly keeled forward and began sobbing uncontrollably.

Denise turned toward Dr. Campbell, who still sat in silence on his side of the ambulance. "Jesus. Doctor… what the fuck was that?"

Dr. Campbell slowly looked up at her, but before he could reply they both heard Lisa gasp. Turning, they saw that several large bloodstains had suddenly seeped through the stomach region of Kyle's shirt.

"Oh God…" Lisa moaned. "Now what the fuck's happening to him?"

Dr. Campbell finally stood now and slowly reached over, grabbing the hem of Kyle's shirt, and lifting it up. What he saw caused him to gasp and stumble backward.

Carved into Kyle's stomach were the words "FREDDY'S BACK! LORI'S NEXT!"

* * *

**A/N: **Once again, broken record though I may sound like, I apologize for the extremely long wait between chapters (though still, this is the third one in a row that didn't take over a year!) Life gets in the way, as we all know. But I'm back again, and as long as this story remains unfinished, I will continue to update it. I sort of feel like it's my duty, as the population of writers that actually write _Nightmare on Elm Street _horror fics (as opposed to romance fics or stupid crackfics) seems to be dwindling as of late. Even more so than it has been in the past several years which… really makes me sad. We used to have some amazing contributors to the mythos, but most of them have been driven off by the insanely distasteful and completely out of character fluff that most of the idiots that post in this section write. Ah well. C'est la vie. You'll always have me, true _Nightmare_ fans!


	9. Visitation

**Author's note: **Fair warning, though this is far from the most graphic chapter I've written, it might be the darkest thus far. There's a very mild scene of implied rape… well… it's more than implied, but it's still probably pretty tame by most standards of what you might find in this section. It definitely remains in the M category, but I felt the need to put up a warning about anyway, as it's not generally the sort of thing I include in my stories, but I felt it necessary here. So… best avoid this chapter if that sort of thing makes you too uncomfortable. Though honestly, if it does, you're probably in the wrong section. Also, quit reading my story.

Aside from that a lot of the usual violence and swearing you've come to know and love with this story is in here also, so… there's that. Enjoy! And as always, I extend a big thank you to my most constant readers, my Kruegerettes, if you will, Darkness Takes Over and sereneflower. You two are the reason this story keeps going, and I thank you for it!

"**Visitation"**

"_How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fear, no dread; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly and brings nothing but sweet dreams."_

_-Bram Stoker_

_Two days later…_

Sheriff Williams sighed as he leaned against the driver's side door of his squad car, the air spilling from his nostrils in a curling, grey mist in the cold air. The storms and cloud cover from the previous days had finally passed over, blown out by a particularly frigid cold front. In the sky above the Sheriff, thousands of stars twinkled down, cold and indifferent to the horrors that had once again begun plaguing Springwood.

Horrors that Sheriff Williams was beginning to doubt would ever end.

Across the street, nestled amongst several large and ancient looking oak trees, the Harlin Funeral Home loomed, its windows blazing with light, several cars parked out in front. A young, well dressed couple had just finished walking up the funeral parlor's stone front steps, and entered through its glass double doors.

The Harlin Funeral Home was built within an old, three story Victorian Manor, one Sheriff Williams was fairly sure was the oldest building in Springwood. It was also located smack in the middle of one of the more upscale and wholesome neighborhoods in Springwood, on Sycamore Drive, which Williams had always found somewhat morbid, but he supposed that was just par for the course in Springwood. It had been converted into a funeral home in the 1960's, and had been kept in absolutely pristine shape ever since.

After all, the Harlin was one of the most successful businesses in town and could afford the upkeep. And they had one man to thank for that.

The same man that was responsible for the wake that was going on here tonight, a wake being held for one of the local kids, a Justin Straub, who'd been found dead, torn to shreds, in his own bedroom two nights ago. The coroner had labeled it an animal attack. A wild dog or rabid coyote must've climbed it through the boy's open window while he slept. Fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Straub had been so deeply in shock, they'd failed to notice that Justin's bedroom window had been closed until the police arrived on the scene. Of course an animal _had_ been responsible for what had happened, it just wasn't the four legged kind.

It was Freddy Krueger. He'd found his way back. Again.

It had started a few days before with those junkies who'd carved each other up in the Elm Street murder house. Williams had hoped to God all it was just an example of a couple of druggies going too far. Hell, maybe the nursery rhyme written on the wall (…_Freddy's comin' for you!_) actually had just been written by them, in a dazed and delirious state. It was an old jump rope song, and not _everyone_ knew its origins.

But then this Justin kid had bit it, in such an extremely gruesome manner, while taking a nap in his locked tight room.

The same night, some uppity college kid from out of town had also managed to get himself killed, his eyes and tongue getting ripped out while he was in a coma, before he drowned in his own blood.

There was no denying that Fred Krueger had found his way back. And that it was time to take action.

Which was why he was here. To keep an eye out for suspicious activity. The Sheriff couldn't enter the funeral home himself, of course. He had no personal connections to the Straubs, and with the boy's death being officially labeled an accident, it'd be awfully suspicious for the town Sheriff to be seen prowling around his funeral. But Williams had been informed that Westin Hills was planning on sending some folks over too. They'd be able to blend in at the wake far better than he could.

The real reason the Sheriff was here was to deal with Lisa Clifton if she actually tried to show up. Lisa was some hotheaded young thing from the college up in Athens. She'd been friends with the college boy that was murdered, Kyle Stark, and judging by what Principal Shea at the high school had said, this whole Krueger outbreak might very well be her fault.

Of course, in Williams' opinion, that real estate idiot who'd bought the murder house, Donald Lawson, had a rather sizeable part to play in Krueger's resurgence as well. But at least he hadn't gone around screaming Krueger's name at the top of his lungs.

Williams rubbed the bridge of his nose. He'd really thought they were finally rid of Krueger. It had been seven years since the last incident, the longest gap there'd ever been since the eighties. Williams was going to be up for reelection in a year. Maybe it was finally time to retire and get the hell out of Ohio. As far away from Springwood as he could possible get. He heard Maine was a nice place to live…

His thoughts were interrupted as a white Nissan Sentra pulled up behind has cruiser. The words "Westin Hills Psychiatric Hospital" were stenciled on the sides. The engine cut and the lights flicked off as the vehicle's occupants stepped out of the driver's and passenger's side doors respectively; Dr. Roy Campbell adjusted the collar of his tan trench coat as he stood, while Maggie finished bundling her black, peacoat, before belting it at the waist.

The Sheriff nodded as Dr. Campbell strode up to him. He stuck out his hand. "Roy."

Dr. Campbell took his hand and shook it firmly. "Carl."

Maggie, meanwhile, had gone around to the back passenger's door of the car and opened it. Sheriff William's eyes shot wide as he recognized the black haired girl in the leather jacket who stepped out.

It was Lisa Clifton.

"What in the hell-" the Sheriff started before Dr. Campbell put up a hand, cutting him off.

"I understand the sentiment, Carl. But she's a part of this now. She can help."

"Really? Help who? Us or _him_? 'Cause I think she's given him enough of a foothold already."

Lisa glowered at him, crossing her arms. "Get bent."

Sheriff Williams took a threatening step toward her, when Maggie suddenly stepped in his way. "Look… I know she can be a bit… abrasive…" She shot Lisa a look. Lisa huffed, but averted her gaze. "But she knows what she's done now. She's seen it firsthand. Krueger killed her friend and she wants to help now."

"She can help us identify which students may have had contact with Krueger." Dr. Campbell chimed in from behind Williams. "At the very least she can point out any who may have been at the high school when she mentioned his name."

Williams scoffed. "Mentioned his name? You mean where she screamed exactly who he was and what he did for the entire building to hear?"

Lisa spun on her heel to face the Sheriff again, a dark glare on her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and her eyeliner had run, giving her a haggard appearance. It was obvious she'd been crying. "Look, it's not my fuckin' fault, alright?! Maybe if people like you actually put some thought into trying to get rid of this Krueger guy for good, instead of sweeping him under the rug and pretending he didn't exist, the kids in this town wouldn't have been dying for the past forty years! You really think ignoring the problem was going to make it go away?!"

"We had a system-" the Sheriff started, before Lisa let out a barking laugh, cutting him off.

"Your system's a fucking joke. If it hadn't been me, it would've been someone else mentioning his name sooner or later. Things like what this Krueger guy did don't just go away. No matter how deeply you try to bury them, they always find a way to resurface. Nothing's going to stop until you cut this guy off at his source!" Lisa suddenly let out a shuddering sigh, and ran a hand through her hair. When she spoke again, her voice wavered. "Christ, how can shit like this even _happen_? How does this guy work?"

Dr. Campbell shook his head. "Nobody really knows how it works. The scientific and spiritual applications involved on how Krueger manages to do what he does aren't really important. Stopping him is."

Lisa scoffed again. "Really? You don't think so? 'Cause if we understood how it worked, maybe we _could_ stop him, ya know? But, I guess that isn't the easy way out, now is it?"

Maggie kept her mouth shut, but inwardly, she agreed with Lisa. Krueger's powers _were_ supernatural. They were given to him by the Dream Demons. And he'd never managed to reach the same levels of power he'd had before Maggie blew them out of him with that pipe bomb. The Dream Demons were the key, and Maggie had always felt that perhaps a better understanding of them might lead to a better understanding of Krueger himself. But, if she started bringing that up, it'd start bringing up a bunch of other questions, that might lead to the question of Maggie's heritage. She hadn't told anybody about her connection to Krueger since moving to Springwood, including Dr. Campbell. And with what lengths the town had gone to in order to cover Krueger up, she was in no hurry to let anyone here know she was their resident boogeyman's only daughter.

The Sheriff was fuming now. He opened his mouth to say something more, but Maggie put up a hand cutting him off. "Look, we can argue about this later. Right now, we need to get in there and assess the situation. Roy is acquainted with the Straubs, so our appearance here shouldn't raise too much suspicion."

Williams looked like he wanted to contest this decision but finally just shook his head and sighed. "Fine. But just to warn you, there are a lot of kids from the high school in there that are bound to remember Little Miss Sunshine here. She may have rubbed some of their parents the wrong way if any of their kids asked them about…_ him._"

Dr. Campbell nodded. "We'll take care of it. You just keep an eye out for anything suspicious out here."

Williams nodded, before crossing his arms and leaning back against his car.

And with that, Maggie, Lisa, and Dr. Campbell made their way across the street to the Harlin Funeral Home.

* * *

Kara Murphy was decidedly uncomfortable. She didn't like funerals and she didn't like dressing up. So, as she sat with her arms crossed at a table at the back of the Harlin Funeral home visitation room at, near the white double doors that lead out into the lobby, dressed in a black button down blouse and long, ankle-length black skirt, she did her best to be as invisible as possible. She had the sleeves of her blouse rolled up (just below her elbows to keep the track marks hidden, since she wasn't wearing her arm warmers) and was wearing leather bracelets on both wrists, in order to cover up the scars there. Her brown, purple streaked hair was tied back into a pony tail, and she had actually forgone her dark makeup, in favor of a subtle shade of purple eye shadow and lipstick. She felt weird and she really didn't want to be here.

The visitation room itself was large and open. The carpet was a deep red color, the ceiling held up by several large, white, roman style pillars (fake ones of course, made of plaster, rather than marble.) The pillars were each decorated by softly glowing oil lamps. Kara supposed these were meant to be comforting, but they just seemed weird and out of place to her. A pipe organ version of "What A Friend We Have in Jesus" was playing softly from an overhead PA. Kara thought it an ironic choice. It didn't seem to her that anybody in Springwood had a friend in Jesus lately.

Near the back of the room were several tables, set up with steel folding chairs, including the one Kara herself sat at. Each table had a pitcher of water and several plastic cups. At the front of the room, a long line of people stood, waiting to pay their respects at the casket of Justin Straub. The pearl white casket was closed, of course. Justin had apparently been torn up pretty good. The casket itself, set up on a large display platform, was surrounded with flowers and framed photographs from Justin's life. A blown up version of Justin's most recent yearbook photo was on an easel near the head of the casket. Justin's mother and father stood in front of the casket, at the head of the receiving line. Justin's mother was sobbing, and his father was doing his best to look strong, but Kara could tell he was just as devastated. From where she sat, Kara could see Chastity Hill, Luke Morley, and Rory Lawson, standing near the front of the line, with Rory's father Donald. Despite how much Kara hadn't wanted to come, she had done so mostly at the insistence of Luke and Rory despite Chastity's protests. Even from where she sat, Kara could see Chas's eyes wide and blank, staring past everything else. Justin's death had hit her pretty hard it seemed.

Of course it had hit all of them hard. The death of a 16 year old kid tended to do that. Especially when you took into account the fact that the 16 year old kid was murdered by the ghost of a serial killer that haunted their dreams and wanted to kill all of them next.

Kara rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed deeply. Christ, this was all so fucked up. This dream killing stuff. Plus all those weird visions she kept having, that made it feel like her skull was going to explode. The woman in black being lynched by that tree on Elm Street. Then the other woman, the one in the white dress, with the grey streak in her bushy brown hair, who had appeared to her just before she had passed out at Rory's…

And then there was the dream she'd had _while _passed out. She hadn't told anybody about it, frankly, because she had no idea what to make of it herself.

She'd found herself standing in a line of trees at the edge of a clearing in a forest. It was the dead of night.

Beyond the clearing, she could see the shimmering reflection of a full moon, on the black watery canvas of a vast lake.

In the middle of the clearing, a large bonfire burned. And this was where things got weird.

Frantically dancing around the fire in a circle, dressed in elaborate costumes made of feathers and animal skins, were what looked like several Native Americans. They danced to a beat, kept on a drum by another Native American who was seated cross-legged outside the circle. Standing even further away, at the edge of the lake, were three foreboding looking elders, dressed in long animal skins. They were each thin, their long braided hair a steely grey, but their faces showing expressions of stern dignity. The middle Elder was holding a staff, high above his head. He appeared to be chanting something, but Kara couldn't hear him over the drums, and the cries of the dancing Indians.

It was some kind of ritual, that much was obvious, although Kara couldn't tell what kind. But there was a primal sort of desperation to the dancing. A kind of fear. It was as if the dancers were trying to protect themselves from something or ward something off. Something old and evil. Kara could feel that whatever she was seeing, it had happened a long, long time ago. She didn't know how she knew that… but she did.

A branch snapping next to her suddenly caused her to gasp, and turning, she came face to face with the same beautiful woman in white she'd seen just before she passed out. She looked different though. Kara could see right through her, like she was a ghost. She appeared to be fading in and out of existence. There was a look of desperation on her face. Her mouth moved, as if she was speaking but no sound came out.

Kara shook her head. "I don't understand. What is this? What are you trying to show me?"

The woman appeared to sigh, before suddenly closing her eyes. She looked to be concentrating on something. Suddenly, her transparency faded and she became solid. The woman opened her eyes again, and spoke very slowly and deliberately, as if every word took great effort.

"Crystal… Lake… Wolfsong…"

Kara shook her head once again. "I don't understand."

"Find him!" the woman managed to say, before vanishing altogether.

That was when Kara had awoken to find herself lying on Rory's floor…

Kara's thoughts were interrupted when Luke suddenly slid into the chair next to hers. He was dressed nicely in a black suit, with a dark blue tie, over a white dress shirt. His normally shaggy hair was gelled, so that it stayed out of his eyes. "Hey. How're you holding up?"

Kara shrugged. "Not so bad. I barely knew the guy after all." She looked up at him. "What about you? I know he was, like, your best friend right?"

Luke looked down at the table and nodded. Kara could tell he was trying to hide the fact that his eyes were tearing up. "Since grade school. Fuck. I don't understand any of this. How in God's name is this even possible?"

Kara shook her head and hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching up and placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry." She really was. She was still fucked up over Tyler and Molly's deaths, and she hadn't really even liked them. She'd never had a best friend, so she couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose someone like that.

Luke reached up and gave her hand a quick squeeze. Kara felt her breath catch momentarily. She wasn't used to be touched by anyone, let alone a guy like Luke.

Oh Jesus Christ, she thought to herself. This is probably the most inappropriate moment possible for you to start feeling butterflies over some boy. Get a fucking grip.

The moment Luke let go of her hand, she quickly slipped hers off of his shoulder and let it drop into her lap. At that moment, Rory and Chas appeared, taking seats on the other side of the table from her and Luke.

"This doesn't make any sense!" Chas was dressed in a short, sleeveless black dress, and 3 inch black heels. Her hair was immaculately styled and pinned back, but her makeup was in complete disarray, her eyeliner running down her face in streaks. Her eyes were red and puffy. "How can he be dead? The police are saying it was an animal attack?! How the fuck does a wild dog sneak into someone's room and rip them apart while they're sleeping?!"

Rory shook her head, pulling the white sweater she wore over her own black dress tighter around herself. "I tried to warn him not to go to sleep…"

Chas's eyes narrowed and she glared over at Rory. Her voice took on a low and menacing tone. "Rory, seriously… don't start with that dream killer crap."

Rory sighed, looking over at Luke and Kara. The three of them exchanged glances.

They had tried to explain who Krueger was to Chas, after Kara had woken up from her episode, but Chas wouldn't have any of it. She had really taken exception to Kara's saying she thought Justin was dead. Chas just accused them all of being full of shit, before angrily declaring that Kara's drug addled influence must have been having a negative effect on Rory and Luke. That had seemed to piss Rory off even more than it did Kara, and Rory started laying into Chas. It was actually kind of touching to Kara that Rory was so willing to defend her like that.

Rory had attempted to call Justin again, one last time, after that. And the police on the scene had answered. And that had been when they'd found out what happened. The fact that Kara had been right about Justin's death just seemed to make it that much worse. It was as if Chas blamed her for it.

And now here they were.

"Chas," Rory said. "I saw the guy who did it. I met him."

"You had a fucking dream!" Chas snapped. "That's all it was. Why can't you accept that?"

"And the fact that Kara had the same dream at the same time doesn't mean anything to you?" Luke suddenly piped up.

Chas glanced over at Kara and scoffed. "It makes it mean less to me actually."

"Why are you so willing to dismiss what your friends are telling you?" though Luke was still trying to keep is tone hushed, it was obvious he was losing patience with Chas.

"Why are you so willing to buy into something based on a dream some needled up junky had?! "Chas countered.

Kara herself said nothing, instead just staring down at her lap. This entire exchange was just making her more and more uncomfortable.

"Chas, you have to believe us!" There was a desperation in Rory's voice now. "Before he went after Justin, Krueger insinuated he was going after you. I think he did that to throw my guard off, but now that he's finished with Justin, I think you might be next!"

"Stop it! Just fucking stop with that shit!" Chas suddenly yelled, leaping to her feet. Everyone in the line at the casket suddenly turned to look at her. "Justin is dead, alright?! He's fucking dead, and you three idiots can't stop fucking talking about some imaginary boogeyman that you think did it! Christ, how fucking old are all of you?!"

"Chas, calm down!" Luke said in a hushed tone.

"Go fuck yourself," Chas suddenly barked at him. She glared around at all three of them. "You people can all go to hell!" Her eyes rested on Kara. "Especially you, you junky bitch! I dunno how you got them to buy into your bullshit, but you need to back the fuck off!"

With that she stormed off toward the double doors at the back of the room. Luke stood to stop her, but Rory reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Let her go. You know how she is. She'll calm down."

Luke looked down at her before glancing back in Chas's direction one last time, just as Chas slammed the double doors behind her. He sighed, slinking back into his seat. "Kara, I am so sorry about that…"

Kara waved him off. "Don't worry about it. S'nothin' I ain't heard before."

Rory shook her head, exhaling deeply. "She's not usually this nasty. I think Chas cared about Justin more deeply than any of us realized. This has really messed her up."

Luke nodded, crossing his arms. "It's really messed _me_ up."

Rory reached over to him and was about to respond… when her eyes went wide at something she saw over his shoulder.

The double doors had just reopened, and three people walked in. One was an older man in a trench coat, with graying hair, and a haggard, worried look on his face. The other was an older woman, her black hair cut into a bob, wearing a black peacoat, over black slacks and heels. The third, however, was a girl that Rory recognized. She had long, straight black hair, and was wearing khaki slacks, black flats, and a black leather coat over a black top. And she was the girl who had shown up at Springwood High two days before ranting and raving about Freddy Krueger.

"Holy shit!" Rory heard Luke breath. "That's that psycho girl from school the other day. Who're the other two with her though?"

"The man's Dr. Campbell. The woman's Dr. Burroughs," Kara said. Rory blinked before turning to look at her. Kara looked her dead in the eye. "They're doctors from Westin Hills."

Luke looked at her quizzically. "The mental institution? How do you know?"

Kara pulled back the sleeve of her left arm, showing Luke the multiple needle marks the fabric hid. "How do you think?"

"I wonder why they're here." Rory said.

A look of anger had formed on Luke's face. "She'd better not make another scene. That's the last thing we need right now. This whole thing is her fault."

Rory wondered about that though. Was it really Lisa's fault for telling everyone about Krueger? Or was it Rory's fault for not warning them about him sooner? Nancy had told her not to tell anyone. But maybe she could have prepared them for Freddy before he grew so strong…

"Everything alright over here?" a new voice suddenly spoke up behind them, causing Rory to jump. She turned to see her father, Donald, standing just behind her chair. He was dressed in a grey suit, and deep burgundy tie. A sympathetic look was on his face.

Rory nodded. "Yeah, dad, we're holding up okay."

Donald nodded slowly. "What was Chastity shouting about?"

Rory shrugged. "She's just not handling this well. She'll be alright. She just needs some space is all."

Donald nodded. "Understandable. This hit all of us pretty hard." He glanced over at Luke. "I liked Justin. He was a good kid. Had a great sense of humor."

Luke nodded, but said nothing.

Donald sighed and began glancing around. "You kids just let me know when you wanna get outta here. I understand this must be tough, and I don't expect you to…" he trailed off as he spotted something near the double doors. His face soured darkly. "What in the hell's she doing here?" Rory glanced over her shoulder and noticed that her father had caught sight of Lisa too. She was about to ask Donald how he knew her, when Donald cut her off. "Stay here." He strode quickly in Lisa and the doctors' direction.

Lisa glanced up and saw him coming. A dark smile slowly crawled across her face. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. Murder House himself!"

Donald jabbed a finger in her face, hissing through clenched teeth. "I can't even begin to tell you how utterly inappropriate it is for you to be here, you-"

The older woman standing next to Lisa suddenly stepped forward, cutting him off. "I'm sorry. You're Donald Lawson?"

Donald paused a moment, regarding this new woman. "Yes. Who're you?"

"Mr. Lawson, my name is Dr. Maggie Burroughs." She gestured to the grey haired man on her left. "This is Dr. Roy Campbell. We're psychiatrists at Westin Hills Psychiatric Hospital. Am I correct in believing that you're the one who purchased the house at 1428 Elm Street?"

Donald threw up his hands. "Jesus Christ! What is this town's fucking obsession with that house?! Yes, I'm the one that bought it. Why?"

Dr. Campbell stepped forward now. "Because, Mr. Lawson, by getting involved with that house, you've put your daughter, her friends, and this entire town in extremely grave danger!"

* * *

Chas stumbled through one of the darkened, inner hallways of the funeral home, sobbing openly now. She'd run out to the lobby knowing her emotions had gotten the better of her. Unfortunately, there were simply too many people gathered in the lobby for her liking as well. She just wanted to be alone right now. So she had slipped into one of the hallways that lead into the rest of the home and now here she was.

She just couldn't believe Justin was really gone! Yes, he was an idiot sometimes, and yes, his sense of humor often left something to be desired… but he'd always been there when it counted. And he was one of the only guys that wanted her for something other than her looks. He was capable of being really sweet when he wanted to, and though Chas had often outwardly rejected the way she treated him, the truth was she wished to God something would have happened between them. She kept waiting for Justin to act, her pride rendering her incapable of making the first move herself.

Her stupid, fucking pride. Because of it, she'd never told Justin that she felt the same way for him he obviously felt for her. And now she never would be able to.

She stopped walking and slumped against the wall of the hallway. Sniffing back tears and looking skyward, she let out a shuddering sigh. "God. Justin… I'm so sorry…"

As she allowed her gaze to fall back down, she noticed the open doorway across the hall from where she leaned. A soft, flickering orange light glowed from within. Not knowing why, Chas slowly stood up and made her way into the room.

It was a small, quaint, chapel. Probably set up for the more religious mourners who came to the Harlin. The walls were a soft, cream color. There were three rows of short pews set up in the room. On the wall opposite the door, a small altar was set up. Upon the altar were two lit, candelabras accounting for the soft glow that had been issuing from the open door. On the wall above the altar was a stained glass window, depicting Jesus Christ, holding an olive branch, and walking amongst the clouds, his head wreathed in a glowing, yellow halo, a look of kind serenity on his face.

Chas was not a religious person. Nevertheless, she found the chapel, and particularly the stained glass window comforting. She made her way to the front of the room, taking a seat in the front most pew, and looking up at the window.

"Why is this happening?" she whispered softly. "Why is everything so screwed up? What did we do to deserve this? If you're up there, if you're listening… why did you take him away?"

The face of Jesus just stared back, impassively at her. Chas wasn't sure what she expected. She sighed, leaning forward, and burying her face in her hands. Good God, she was tired. She'd barely slept in the two days since Justin had died. She just needed to rest her eyes for a moment.

She sat up with a start a moment later. She thought she'd heard…

She froze. She was no longer in the chapel.

She was now seated on a splintery wooden bench, which was pushed up against a cold brick wall. The floor below her was made of a grimy and moldy wood. It looked like she was in some kind of dank and scummy backstage area. A single light bulb, hanging from a wire lit the room. A large, eight foot by eight foot opening loomed in front of her, covered by a large, dirty red curtain. She could hear the muffled thumping of some kind of club music on the other side.

Looking down at herself, her eyes widened. Her dress and shoes were gone. She was now wearing a ratty pink robe, tied at the waist. Checking beneath the robe, she saw that she wore only lingerie; a black bra, panties, fishnet stockings and 6 inch black heels. "What the hell…?"

Without warning, two girls suddenly burst into the room, from behind the curtain, giggling. They were teenagers from the look of it, maybe a year or two older than Chas. But as she got a good look at them, Chas realized there was something very wrong with them.

The first girl was tall and thin. She was dressed in nothing but a dark, green corset, high rise panties, and thigh high nylons. She had long brown hair, cut into bangs in the front and would've been very glamorously pretty… were it not for the gaping wound in her stomach. Blood was spilling forth from the wound, and Chas gagged slightly when she noticed the torn tissue and muscle (and was that a part of her intestines?) protruding from the wound.

The other girl didn't look much better. She was shorter than the first, very pale, and had shoulder length black hair that hung down just past her shoulders. Her outfit was identical to the first girls, except it was a dark red instead of green. She had no wound on her stomach, but her arms were covered in gaping needle marks. Dried blood from the wounds caked her forearms in crimson.

Both girls' were deathly pale, their eyes sunken, and their teeth a nasty shade of yellow. They looked wrong. They looked dead.

"Wild crowd out there tonight, eh Taryn?" The tall girl said, grinning wickedly at the other.

"Ya got that right, Greta." The other girl, Taryn responded. She spun around, looking over her shoulder, revealing four deep, slash marks on the right side of her rear end. "The boss got a little handsy too. Typical."

Both girls cackled at this before suddenly pausing when they noticed Chas seated on the bench.

"Aww!" Greta cooed. "Look at the new girl! She's so cute!"

"Oh, honey," Taryn said, grinning darkly. "They are going to eat you alive out there."

"What's going on?" Chas said, her voice thin and panicky. "Where am I? Who are you two?"

"Where are you?" Greta raised an eyebrow. "Babe, you're at the Snakepit Club. And we're the, ah…entertainment. Ya know… the dancers?"

"Yeah," Taryn replied. "Just like you!"

Chas's eyes shot wide as she realized what this meant. "Okay, I am _not_ a stripper."

The girls cackled at this. "Sure, you're not," said Greta. "Anyway, you better get ready. You're almost up!"

"What?!" Chas stood quickly. Before she could do anything else, Greta and Taryn grabbed her by the wrists and started dragging her toward the curtain.

"C'mon, kid," Taryn said. "With a name like Chastity, what the hell else were you gonna wind up being?"

"She's just got the first night jitters, Tar," Greta responded. "She'll be fine once she gets out there."

"You're right," Taryn nodded. "Either that or they'll tear her to ribbons."

The girls cackled again, as the music on the other side of the curtain died down, and a booming amplified voice, deep and gravelly spoke.

"Psychos and gentlemen! Next up, for your erotic pleasure, we have a special treat in store. This is her first time, so to speak, so try not to be too rough on her. Ah, who am I kidding? You guys are gonna run her ragged! Now give it up for the young, the nubile, the vulnerable and innocent, Chastity Hill!"

A savage cheer rose up, that chilled Chastity to the bone. The crowd out there sounded like raving maniacs!

"Show time, kiddo!" Taryn said, grabbing Chas by the collar of her robe. "Good luck!"

"You're definitely gonna need it!" Greta suddenly whipped the belt off of Chas's robe as Taryn tore the robe itself off her shoulders, before both girls shoved her, now completely exposed, through the curtain.

Chastity stumbled several feet forward, going through the curtain, before barely managing to find her footing, in the six inch heels she wore. She squinted in the sudden light, as a bright, spotlight shined directly down on her from somewhere up above. When her eyes adjusted, and she was finally able to take in her surroundings, it was all she could do not to scream.

She was standing on a small stage that jutted out into the middle of a large, dank, and open room. The stage was lined with old lightbulbs, most of them burnt out, and at least half smashed completely. At the edge of the stage was a long, grime covered, metal dancing pole. The windowless room was poorly lit, and smelled of mildew, the ceiling at least a good fifty feet high. The walls were made of a molding brick. The spotlight shined down from a wrought iron balcony, overlooking the whole room. Behind the spotlight, was a heavy iron door, with no handle. Faintly, Chastity became aware that a new song had begun playing, booming loudly from every direction at once: Rob Zombie's "Living Dead Girl."

And surrounding the stage, packed shoulder to shoulder, were what must've been a hundred men. They were all grimy and covered in dirt and their own filth. They wore nothing but soiled, white hospital gowns. They were constantly moving, a rippling sea of humanity, some of them gibbering nonsensically, some of them staring and silent, some shrieking, some cackling. They were hideous and insane, raving and drooling, madmen, and when they noticed her their excitement increased and they began to crowd the stage, hooting and hollering, clawing and reaching for her.

Something high up near the ceiling swayed past the spotlight momentarily blocking it out, and looking up, Chas wasn't able to keep herself from screaming this time.

An old, decrepit corpse, nearly mummified looking, was hanging from the ceiling, by a thick rope coiled around its neck. It was dressed in what looked like an old fashioned, white nun's habit.

Chas slowly began backing away from the horrific scene, when she suddenly bumped up against something. Slowly turning around, she came face to face with the most hideous looking man she'd ever seen.

With his burnt face, his hat and sweater, and the steel claw on his right hand, Chastity instantly knew that this was the man Rory and Kara had tried to warn her about. This was Freddy Krueger. "Goin' somewhere, babe?"

Chastity screamed, backing away from him now. "No! You're not real! You can't be!"

"Oh, I'm real alright," Freddy snickered, slowly stalking toward her. "But I'm not the one you need to be worried about right now. These fine gentlemen surrounding us are expecting you to put on a show. And lemme tell ya… this crowd'll turn on you like that!" Freddy snapped his fingers. "If they don't get what they want!"

"C'mon Chastity," Chas's blood froze in her veins as she recognized this new voice. "Just fuckin' get naked already!" Slowly Chas turned. At the edge of the stage, amidst the hundred maniacs, she saw Justin grinning up at her. He was dressed in the same soiled hospital gown as the rest of them. His skin was deathly white, his throat split wide open and covered in dried blood. His eyes were puffy and red, and deeply sunken. "It's the least you owe me… since I fucking died for you!"

Chastity screamed again, when suddenly, she felt Freddy's rough and burnt hand catch her by the back of the neck. She felt Freddy's hot and rancid breath on her ear as he whispered. "C'mon, bitch. Shake that ass!"

With that, Freddy cackled and roughly thrust her forward. Chas stumbled a few feet, before losing her footing, and with a terrified scream, she tumbled over the edge of the stage, and into the outstretched, clawing hands of one hundred raving maniacs.

* * *

Rory held her breath as Dr. Burroughs finished telling her father everything she knew about Freddy Krueger.

The seven of them – Rory, her father, Dr. Burroughs, Dr. Campbell, Lisa, Luke, and Kara – had left the visitation room, and were now standing off to the side in the lobby, away from where anyone else might listen in on their conversation. Dr. Campbell had asked them to step out here, and with some hesitation, Donald had followed.

Everything Maggie had said had been a lot to take in. She'd revealed several things that even Rory herself hadn't known about. That Freddy had originally been a child murderer in the 1960's, who had killed some twenty something children before being caught. How he'd been freed on a technicality, how the parents of Elm Street had tracked him down to his boiler room lair and brutally burned him alive. How he'd come back for revenge in the dreams of their children…

Donald's face remained blank and unreadable for several long seconds, before he finally looked back up at Maggie. "So what you're telling me… is that the ghost of some serial child murderer that kills people in their dreams, haunts the house on Elm Street that I bought?"

Maggie sighed deeply, and Rory didn't blame her. It was obvious from his tone that Donald was preparing to be difficult. "Mr. Lawson, I understand it sounds crazy-"

"Oh, it doesn't just sound crazy. It fucking _is_ crazy!" Donald suddenly snapped. "I don't understand why this town obsessively hates the fact that I bought that house, I really don't. But the lengths you people have gone to try to convince me to get rid of it are genuinely, clinically, insane. If you expect me to believe-"

"Dad, please!" Rory interjected. "She's telling the truth!"

Donald closed his eyes. Now it was his turn to sigh. "Rory, please. You're a smart girl, don't tell me you believe in this crap."

"It's not crap!" Lisa suddenly spoke up, and Rory inwardly steeled herself up. Her father already seemed to hold Lisa in contempt, and it was pretty obvious Lisa didn't exactly bend over backwards to get along with everybody else either. "Look, you remember Kyle? The cameraman I had with me when I was at your fucking house a few weeks back? Yeah, he's dead now. I saw him, die. I saw his eyes and tongue get cut out of his head, by absolutely nothing, while he was in a fucking coma! I've read the police reports on that house. Krueger's name is all over them! These people are telling the truth!"

Donald's face had soured the instant Lisa had opened her mouth, though Rory could tell the news of Kyle's death had caught him off guard. Before he could reply, Kara suddenly spoke up.

"Plus, like… Tyler and Molly died in that house." Donald's eyes widened and he slowly looked over at Kara. "Yeah… ya know… just a few days ago. They were a couple of lowlifes, and they got high on some pretty nasty shit sometimes… but they've never gotten so fucked up that they would've gutted each other like that."

Dr. Campbell nodded, speaking to Donald as well. "And I know Sheriff Williams called you to the house that night and brought you inside the crime scene. Did you happen to notice the words written on the wall? 'One, two, Freddy's coming for you'?"

"And Justin." Luke spoke up now, quietly. "Justin's dead now, 'cause of this psycho. How else can you explain it? All of these people, these kids… all of them connected to you and your house, all of them dying within days, and in one case, hours of each other. How do you explain that?"

Donald was clearly at a loss. His eyes darted between each of the six other people he stood with. Rory could tell that there was a war going on behind his eyes right now; the rational side of him, fighting the side that knew what these people were saying was true. She reached over and placed a hand on his arm.

"Dad… I know this is hard to believe, trust me. But I've seen this guy. I dreamt about him. Kara has too. I know how it sounds I really do… but I swear to you it's true. I swear. I wouldn't lie about this kind of thing."

Donald slowly looked over at her. He gazed at her for several long moments. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak.

When a piercing scream suddenly cut through the air from deep within the funeral home.

* * *

Chastity was drowning in a sea of hands and fingernails and teeth and tongues. They were on her, from every side. She could see nothing else. Clawing, and groping, and probing and penetrating. Everywhere. Roughly clutching at her breasts, her stomach. Ripping out her hair. Grabbing her from behind, sliding between her legs, scraping and scratching across her face, her cheeks, her arms. She could feel their mouths upon her, slobbering on her, licking, biting. And she could feel worse. They forced her to the cold, wet, concrete floor, forced her onto her stomach. She could feel things pushing against her backside, things she dared not think about what they were, trying to get _inside_ her. What little clothing she'd been wearing had been torn away the instant they'd taken hold of her, leaving her exposed and vulnerable to their insane, animal, appetites. She sobbed and screamed but couldn't even hear herself over their incessant gibbering, and raving, and laughing. Blood dripped from several cuts made by ragged fingernails across her forehead, running into her eyes blurring her vision. She felt a burning shame, unbridled terror, deep violation.

And over it all she could hear _his _voice, his cruel, inhuman voice, cackling and taunting her.

"Looks like all that work trying to make yourself pretty and popular is finally paying off, bitch! You're the life of the party! HAW HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAW!"

Chastity knew the end result. She knew because Rory had tried to warn her. She was going to die. She wished it would come quickly.

Then, without warning, came a sudden, stabbing pain in her heart-

* * *

Chastity let out a long and ragged gasp as she suddenly shot awake, sitting up stock straight on the floor of the chapel where she'd fallen asleep. Crouching down next to her was a woman she'd never seen before, a pretty, dark haired, middle aged woman in black slacks and a pea coat. Several other people, including Rory, Kara, Luke, and Rory's dad were all gathered around her as well. A grey haired guy in a trench coat, and a black haired, college girl, who looked very familiar were with them as well.

Chas took several deep breaths, willing her heart to slow down. Faintly, she noticed her chest still stung, and glancing down, she saw a syringe protruding from the flesh between her breasts. The dark haired woman grabbed the syringe and gently pulled it out, before standing, and offering her a hand. "Are you alright?"

Chastity took her hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, before shaking her head and speaking in a small, broken voice. "No. No, I'm not alright. I'm not even close to alright."

"Good thinking with the adrenaline shot, Maggie." The grey haired man said to the dark haired woman, Maggie.

"Jesus," Rory's dad said, looking at Chas. "What the hell happened to her?"

Chastity glanced down at herself and inhaled sharply.

Her arms and legs were covered in scratches, bite marks, and bruises. Her forehead burned, and reaching up she winced as she touched the four, deep gashes she still had there. It had all been true. That horrible dream had actually happened.

Rory stepped forward now. "Chas? Honey?"

Chastity looked at her… and suddenly fell forward into her arms, weeping. "Rory, I am so sorry, I didn't believe you. I am so sorry. He's real, he's really real! I am so, so sorry…"

Rory returned her embrace. "God, what did he do to you?"

But Chastity could only sob in return.

Donald watched the whole scene unfold, before breathlessly speaking. "This… none of this is possible."

Maggie turned and looked him straight in the eye. "I assure you, Mr. Lawson, this is all very possible. There is a very dark, very real, very pure evil that exists within that house you bought. And if we don't find a way to stop it, and stop it for good this time, there is a very real possibility that it will kill us all."

* * *

**A/N:** _R&R and all that jazz. Thanks for reading! I'm hoping to try to keep this pace up for updating the chapters from now on, ie. a new one every 2-3 weeks. I'll avoid making promises, though, as we all know my track record. We'll see what happens!_


End file.
